The Captive Heart
by Reavera
Summary: A REVISED VERSION OF IN WAR AND LOVE. Ten years have gone by, and Sparrow has brought Bloodstone into prosperity. When the Pirate King attacks her home, she defends her people and takes him prisoner. Foolish enough to show mercy, she learns when you let your guard down with the Thief, he will steal what you treasure most. Dark!Reaver - much, much darker than the original version.
1. Mayor Captain Hero

Disclaimer: For those of you don't know, I do not own anything originally from Fable or Fable 2, or Fable 3 either.

Author's Message: This is a revision of my first serious fanfic, In War and Love. For further details on the why and how of this, please see the final authors note of the original version. To all of my readers who have decided to follow me into this revision, I appreciate you giving this story, and me, another chance. As always, please read and review, because whether you love it or hate it, I value constructive praise and criticism. Remember, I am always striving to improve my writing. Either way, enjoy.

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Chapter One

Mayor. Captain. Hero.

* * *

 _Deep into that darkness peering,_

 _long I stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting,_

 _dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before._

(~Edgar Allan Poe)

From it's very founding, the coastal township of Bloodstone had always been a place of opportunity. Filled to the brim as it was with wayward souls, each one of them filled with a burning ambition and tagged with a price, it was a town easily swayed by anyone with enough money and power to buy it. And so, when a young cavalier passed through their streets and murdered the most fierce-some pirate ever to sail the nine seas, in his own private study no less, the town as a whole bowed down before his might. Thus began the reign of a new Pirate King, who was henceforth known only as 'Reaver'.

No one knew if such be his true name; rumor abounded that he had stolen it from the first man he'd murdered. But true name or not, it was a name that soon struck fear into the heart of every mortal with even a lick of sense. All residents of Bloodstone served him as any subject would serve their King; unquestioningly and unthinkingly. Those who did not... well, their story ended in a pool of blood.

This man, this enigma, was a bloodthirsty deviant of the worst kind, and he fit the image of Bloodstone well. He appeared to have limitless wealth. For more than a hundred years he gorged himself on the finest foods, wines, and pleasurable company, and despite the passage of time he never aged or grew ill. It seemed even death itself feared the Pirate King's unmatched Skill. As his legend grew his people revered him as more than a king; he had, in essence, become their god. He granted them the freedoms and liberties the rest of the civilized world forbade them, and in turn they avoid his displeasure at all costs, for he would gun down any man or woman as soon as look at them. The people felt this a fair price to pay, and they all thought this chaotic and pleasurable way of life would continue on into eternity.

Then, without warning, after more than two centuries of the Pirate King's rule, Lord Lucien's great army laid siege to the town of Bloodstone. The people had cried out for their overlord to save them, but their King had fled, leaving his people to their fate and disappearing without a trace. His subjects were left to fight on their own, but the horde they faced was more vicious and blood-thirsty than any of their own. Many died that day, and when the horde receded, only a few dozen remained to dump the innumerable bodies into the harbor.

For the first time in many centuries, the town of Bloodstone was bereft of leadership; the people were lost and wandered adrift. Their King had forsaken his coastal paradise in search of more exotic and uninhibited pastures. The town quickly degraded into anarchic cesspool. True, it had always been such. But these days it seemed the harbor was never empty of the bloated bodies that bobbed up and down in the water, and more poured in each day. Men and women... the young and the old... wealthy pirates and filthy beggars... No one knew a modicum of safety any longer. Gangs formed, each fighting for the right to rule over the others. The attacks from Wraithmarsh became more and more frequent as the eerie fen continued to expand itself. The carnage besieging the place was unspeakable. Wraiths slipped in through the night and attacked those foolish enough to wander out alone. Gangs fought against each other, and themselves, until even piracy, the trade the town thrived upon, came to a halt. Those who had once been prideful and free-roaming pirates became little more than starving thugs. Without Pirate King to keep a semblance of control and order, the violence in the streets never seemed to cease. The cobbled roads were painted red with the blood of those too weak or too unlucky to survive.

And then, on one fateful and crisp dawn, after three years of relentless brutality and violence, a Hero appeared at the edge of Wraithmarsh. She strode bravely into their town, wearing a long dirtied cloak with a hood that obscured her face. She was fearless and confident as she marched through the winding streets, taking the path leading up toward the manor house on the hill. It was almost as though she did not know of the danger she faced, completely exposed and alone as she was. Perhaps those who saw her were too stunned to respond properly. No one made a move to attack her. Instead, one by one, they began to follow her.

Who was this woman who dared barge into their town as though she owned the place? Who would be so foolish as to brave the dangers of Wraithmarsh, when, at the end of their journey, they would find nothing more than a bloody death at the hands of Bloodstone thugs?

Like tiny streams joining into a larger river, men and women trickled from their run down homes. Prostitutes left their brothels, and burly thugs armed with swords and pistols emerged from their dens. In collective silence they followed the newcomer, who neither glanced back at them or gave any indication that she knew they were there.

Then, at the top of the hill, standing the foot of the steps of the large manor, she finally turned around and threw back her hood. Her face was young, surprisingly so, but held an edge of competency that only the wisdom of age could bring. For several moments she looked over the crowd, singling out every face among them, as though expecting someone to speak. No one made a sound.

"Well, well," she finally said. Her voice was neither loud nor rough, but soft and feminine, all the while while carrying the unmistakable hint of authority. "I wasn't expecting a welcoming committee."

"And who are you?" barked a tall, brutish looking man who stood at the forefront of their gathering. He cracking his scabbed and bloody knuckles in a threatening manner.

The woman did not appear the least bit intimidated. Indeed, her cupid's-bow lips curved into a beguiling smile as her aquamarine eyes sparkled in the sunlight. "I see you do not remember me," she replied with a wry smile.

"And who the bleedin' hell are you?" asked another.

Her smile grew wider. "I am known as Sparrow, though some of you might remember me as the Hero of Bowerstone. I was here some three years ago, the same time your Pirate King disappeared. And seeing as you've asked, I should also inform you that I am now the bleedin' mayor of this-" she looked around mockingly "-fine little town."

A stunned silence met, her pronouncement, at least until the man with the scabbed knuckles could find his voice again.

"Mayor, huh?" he growled. "We don't need no stinking _mayor_. I'm the leader 'round here, so why don't yeh just mosey on back where yeh came from, 'for I ugly up that pretty face of yers."

A round of jeering and laughter followed this proclamation, but the woman barely acknowledged the threat. "I must say, I had a good look around on my way up to my new manor, and if any town needs a mayor... I mean," she said with a hard smile, "just look at yourselves."

"An' what's that s'possed to mean?"

"It means this town has become little more than a gutter where degenerates such as yourself can squander away what life and talent you possess," she said. "Rest assured, I take no pleasure in being here. But I was asked personally by the Mayor of Westcliff to rebuild this town, and that is exactly what I plan to do."

The thug sneered viciously. "I don't give a rat's steaming shit if Reaver 'imself sent yeh. I'll tear yer pretty little head off yer shoulders before I go takin' orders from some posh little wench who's probably never even killed a man." Another burst of rowdy cheers followed this, but the woman did not seem the least bit bothered.

Sparrow waited patiently for the cheers to quiet down, then asked, "Is that how it's going to be?"

"It is."

Sparrow sighed in response, then removed the heavy traveling cloak from her shoulders and let it drop to the ground. Beneath it she wore a ragged linen shirt stained in several places with what looked like dried blood and a pair of skin-tight leather breeches. On one hip rested a thin sword, and on the other was a sleek pistol. Resting her thumb lightly on the hammer, she looked the man dead in the eye with an expression so fierce that a shudder went through the crowd.

"We can start whenever you wish," was her simple challenge, "but before we do, I ask you, aren't you tired of all... _this_?" The crowd fell silent, including the thug who proclaimed himself their leader. "How many years have the people of this town been fighting over the remnants of the Pirate King's rule? Bloodstone was once a town of wealth and freedom, run by proud and merciless pirates that were feared from Westcliff to Oakfield. Now look around you. It's little more than rat-infested hole dedicated to squalor and misery. Is this really how the lot of you want to live your lives? Squandering your life away until someone kills you and adds your corpse to the lot floating in the harbor?"

More silence followed her words, and Sparrow looked meaningfully from face to face, seeing the sudden drop in morale as her words sank in.

"I've come here to take on the mantle of leadership," she went on. "I've come to pick up the jagged pieces of Bloodstone that the Pirate King so callously left behind. Don't you want more than this? I can rebuild this place. It is a monumental task, I won't lie, but it is one I cannot take on alone. I need you, Bloodstone," she said, addressing the crowd at large. "And you need me. I can lead you, but I am not this town. You are. Only you can rebuild what has been lost. The gangs will not save you, the Pirate King will not return for you. I alone care about your future. I alone believe Bloodstone can still be saved. But you need to believe it too. If any of you, like this thug you see before me, believe violence and death is the only way to move forward, then please, I welcome you to challenge me. Prove yourself worthy to lead this town in my stead."

Smiling cruelly, the thug went for his own pistol. Before he could so much as remove it from its holster, a gunshot sounded through the entire town, followed immediately by a hair-raising shriek. The thug found himself on his knees, clutching his right hand, which was bloodied. On closer inspection, one could see it now had a small, round hole sliced cleanly through the center.

"Y-yeh bitch!" he growled in agony, and he grappled for his weapon with his other hand, but again the Sparrow fired her pistol. This time a small appendage flew from the man's other hand and skittered across the cobblestones. The crowd drew back as a whole when they saw it was one of the man's fingers.

"Ghaaaaah!" the man roared loudly, jumping to his feet and charging straight for the woman. Sparrow did not move, did not flinch away, and when the man was only a few feet from her, she drew back her arm and thrust it forward again. A sickening crack could be heard as the butt of the pistol collided with the man's nose. He went down quickly, landing hard on his knees and howling in pain as he grasped at his bleeding face. Before he could even form a reaction, he felt the cold metal of the barrel against his forehead, and he looked up into Sparrow's eyes as she stood over him.

"I could kill you now," she said, and remained quiet for a moment as the reality of those words sank in.

"Then do it," he growled.

"Is that what you really want?" she asked archly. "Because it's not what I want. And it's not what Bloodstone needs." With a fierce glare, she holstered her pistol. "Bloodstone doesn't need any more death. And you don't have to die today."

For several minutes, they looked into each other's eyes. The townspeople around them were deathly silent. No one seemed to move, or even breathe as they waited to see what would happen. Minutes passed. Or was it hours? Still, they waited. Then, to everyone's surprise, the most brutal gang leader among them lumbered to his feet and, with a dignity none of them would have believed if they had not seen it, he offered one bloody hand to the Hero of Bowerstone. All those in attendance stared in utter shock as the two came to terms, shaking hands. An alliance had been made.

Then Sparrow turned again to face the crowd at large, her stature so great, her expression so fierce, and her eyes burning into each of them. For a brief moment, it was as though they were looking into the face of the Pirate King once more.

"Would anyone else like to issue their challenge?" Sparrow said at last.

Silence.

Satisfied, Sparrow retrieved her cloak from the ground. "Return to your homes, your brothels, your dens, and inform everyone you pass that law has come to Bloodstone. At dawn tomorrow, I will call a meeting in the town square. I invite all residents to attend, and together, we will see what can be done about returning Bloodstone to her glory."

Wordlessly, the crowd dispersed, still in shock over the sudden and brutal shift in power. Sparrow turned from them without further thought, and addressed her newest ally.

"Come inside and we'll see about taking care of those wounds," she offered. Grunting, the thug followed her.

Taking a key from around her neck, Sparrow unlocked the door that led her into Reaver's Manor.

 _Or rather_ , my _manor now_ , she thought.

The heavy door flew open, revealing a dank, dark, musty sitting room. Sparrow stepped inside, igniting a handful of flames in her palm and looking around. She heard the thug make a strangled noise of surprise, but ignored him.

The manor house had the distinct air of neglect. She doubted anyone had even set foot inside it since Reaver had abandoned it.

 _Reaver_...

Swallowing hard, Sparrow approached the heavy oaken door across the entrance, almost as though compelled to do so. With one steady hand, she forced the door open and entered the study where she had first encountered the Pirate King. The room was dark and stale as a crypt. Sparrow cautiously made her way around the room, lighting whatever candle-lamps she could find, then offered her guest a chair as she searched through her rucksack for a healing potion.

"What is your name?" she asked as she rummaged through her belongings.

"Jack," he said gruffly.

"Jack," she said to herself. "I knew a Jack once."

The man merely grunted.

"Well, Jack, I have to say I think it in everyone's best interests if we work together. If I'm going to rebuild Bloodstone, I'm going to need your help."

"What do yeh need me for?" he asked in a surly tone.

"Because you're not only feared but respected by these people," she said, finally extracting a bottle from her bag. "They might be subdued for the moment, but the truth is they don't trust me. I'm not one of them. You are."

Taking the bottle from her, he swallowed it's contents in one gulp, then wiped his mouth with the back of his cuff. "So what exactly do yeh want from me?"

"I want you to be a part of the effort to rebuild Bloodstone. And I don't just mean the labor involved. I want the people to know we're working together. That my decisions aren't arbitrary and one of their own has a hand in remaking this town."

Jack seemed to think this over, and Sparrow saw an intelligence in his eyes that she hadn't noticed before. "Fine, yeh'll 'ave me support and me help."

"Thank you," Sparrow said. "We'll me at first light at the town square and begin from there."

Jack nodded and stood from his chair, seeing himself out.

Sparrow slumped exhausted into the chair behind the desk and closed her eyes, overwhelmed by the rigors of her journey. She knew the task before her was monumental, but she was ready for it. She leaned forward onto the desk, wanting a rest, but then jumped back. The desk was coated with a clear inch of dust, but through that, Sparrow could just make out a faded yellowed envelope. Lifting it, she blew off the filth and inspected it closely.

It was addressed to no one. Knowing Reaver, it could be something really nasty, but unable to quell her curiosity, she slit the red-wax seal and flipped it open. A yellowed piece of parchment was inside, folded neatly in half and written upon with an elegant script. Holding it to the light, she read the words the Pirate King had left behind years ago.

 _If you are reading this, you have usurped my home. Well done. May suppurating pustules plague every delicate part of your anatomy. Be you stranger or acquaintance, friend or foe, you can enjoy the anecdotal tales I have recorded upon magical paper and left scattered in objects around the house. Until I return to kill you and take back what is rightfully mine._

 _Vindictively yours,_

 _Reaver_

Grinning in spite of herself, Sparrow folded the letter and tucked it back in its envelope. Typical Reaver. Well, if he ever did return, he would be in for the shock of a lifetime. Instead of finding his town in the hands of some mortal whom he could easily do away with, he would find _her_ , and she wasn't going anywhere.

But for now... well, for now, there was much to be done. Bloodstone was hers, and by Avo and the Light, she would see it prosper.

* * *

 _7 years later…_

Finally, after seven long years, the unkempt air of the town was little more than a distant memory, and Bloodstone bragged of a wealth that surpassed even Bowerstone's. Though sea trade, and not piracy, had become the way of life on which they thrived, the citizenry had followed Sparrow into this bright future, and she in turn protected them from the horrors of Wraithmarsh and the pirates from the sea.

After centuries of lawlessness and filth, Bloodstone had redeemed itself. Each day merchants, artisans, and craftsmen plied their trade, and each night they would gather at the taverns to relax and enjoy a good time. The children received a good education at the school house, were properly clothed and cared for, and went to bed with full stomachs every night. Then, for a few hours before each new dawn, Bloodstone would lull into a peaceful slumber only to stretch its legs and begin the day again.

One sunny morning, Sparrow stood at her elegant stone balcony, her hair tossed around on the clean sea breeze as she looked on with pride. The sun reflected off the russet-tiled roofs of her town. Bloodstone had become a place she could call home. It was far away from all the memories and ghosts of her past. There was nothing here to haunt her. For the first time, she felt as though she had truly accomplished something beyond her own selfish need for revenge. Smiling to herself in satisfaction, she returned to her manor, which she had remodeled in her efforts to remove all traces of Reaver's influence, and she entered her elegant bathroom to prepare for a new day.

Thirty minutes later she stood in front of her full length mirror, smoothing out her clothes as she took her in appearance. Professional as always, she was dressed in her uniform; a fitted white-silk shirt with a high frill around the neckline hugged her body, covered by a pale-blue reefer jacket with shiny brass buttons. White form-fitting trousers hugged her hips and legs, and shinny black boots came up over her knees, the heels lifting her by several inches with high, pointed heels that clicked as she walked. Her rich reddish-brown curls were pulled up into an impeccable knot atop the crown of her head, and held in place by several pins and a pale blue ribbon.

Satisfied that everything was in order, she walked down the stairs to her parlor, opening the front door where her naval Commander stood in full uniform, saluting smartly with just a hint of a smile about his weathered lips. Sparrow couldn't help smiling at the sight of him. Just seven years ago she'd shot this man's third finger off in front of the whole town. Now he was her most trusted officer, clean and uniformed, and her true partner in every sense.

"On time as always, Mister Daniels," she greeted pleasantly. "Come inside and have yourself some coffee."

"Thank yeh, Capt'n," he said in his heavily accented brogue as he removed his hat; his long chocolate-brown locks were tied back and styled immaculately. He stepped inside and shut the door behind himself, then followed her.

As they entered her study, they were greeted by an elderly but spry woman he recognized as Mrs. Kumar. Her skin was a deep, dusky brown and her white-streaked black hair was pulled back into tight braid that reached her knees. She wore strange but colorful robes, today's being a mix of flaming-orange and red, but she had a no-nonsense air about her. She was setting a silver coffee tray on the large mahogany desk dominating the center of the room.

"Good morning Miss Sparrow, Mistair Daniels," she greeted with her peculiar accent. From what Daniels knew of her, she had come with her husband from Samarkand. At the time, he and Sparrow had been working day and night to restore law and order to Bloodstone, and Sparrow had nearly fallen ill from exhaustion. She had hired Mr. and Mrs. Kumar to take care of her and her home, and they had remained with her these past six years.

"Mrs. Kumar, good morning," Sparrow said with reserved warmth. "Is your husband well?"

"He is, Miss, though the foolish man rose with the dawn tu start on the vines on the east wall. He says thair getting undair the roof tiles again."

Sparrow shook her head. "I thought I told him to stay off the roof? He's too old to be climbing, and the fall could kill him."

Manya Kumar rolled her dark eyes. "Try telling that fool he's tu old, see whair that gets yu."

Sparrow smiled. "I'll talk with him again."

Mrs. Kumar bowed and made to leave the study. "I wish yu luck, Ma'am."

Alone with his Captain again, Daniels poured a cup of coffee for the both of them, adding her usual extra milk and sugar. He joined her, holding an ivory, porcelain cup that felt fragile in his large, weathered hands.

"So, how was the journey, Mister Daniels? Anything to report?" She was, of course, asking after her merchant ship, _The Rose._

"Nothin' out of the ordinary, Capt'n," he replied, and then smiled, "and why must we continue on with this 'Mister Daniels' charade. I've always been happy just being Jack."

She gave him a small smile. "We've talked about this. Being professional with each other sends the right message to the people."

He shook his head, but offered her his full report. She listened attentively, even as she stood staring out the window over her gardens, appearing lost in thought. But in reality, she was watching her Commander from the corner of her eye. It was almost impossible to believe that this man was the one who had so boldly threatened her on their first meeting. And after all these years, she couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt every time she saw the empty space on his left hand where his finger had once been. At the time she'd need to establish her dominance in this town, and taking down their self-appointed leader had been the most expedient way to do it. And even though Jack never complained, it still made her feel guilty to see it. Seven years later the man was the closest thing she had to a friend and confidant, and it irked her to remember that she had been the one to maim him.

Shaking away the thoughts, she turned her attention back to his report, and at the end, Sparrow nodded and took her seat, then refilled her coffee. "Thank you, Mister Daniels. It is a relief to know I can rely on your to take care of _The Rose_ when my duties here keep me landlocked."

He grinned. "Yeh can always rely on me, Capt'n. If yeh'll pardon me sayin' so, maybe yeh should get back out on the open sea. Yeh look like yeh could use it."

She lifted her gaze slowly to his, the full impact of her deep blue-green eyes hitting him like a kick to the chest. She looked tired, weary even. But also determined. "In time. I still have business to settle here. It's always busy this time of year. Harvests and merchant ships all coming in at the same time. A monsoon hit last week and the dock needed repairing. A group of pirates got cocky. I personally took care of them."

Daniel's scowled. "Yeh wouldn't be worn down so if yeh didn't insist on takin' care of everything yerself."

Sparrow gave him a rare smile, a real one that seemed to light up her whole face. "If only I had a few more of you, then I wouldn't have to."

He scowled viciously at her. "Yeh work yerself to the bone fer this town. Yeh put so much in it yeh ain't got nothin' left for yerself." It was something he'd never understood about her, despite their years of working together.

Her expression suddenly grew serious. "I commit myself no more or less any resident of this town has," she said quietly. "I could never face them if I didn't. You should know that."

He sighed. "Me apologies, Capt'n, I know its not me place. I am concerned for yeh. Me words come from honest intentions."

"Bloodstone is my home. Its people are my family. What manner of leader would I be if I didn't put everything I have into taking care of them." He could say nothing more and he knew it. "Thank you for your report, Mister Daniels."

Understanding himself to be dismissed, he stood and saluted, exiting the study with a stiff back.

Sparrow watched him go and then immediately put him from her mind. She had promoted Jack as her Commander when she had acquired _The Rose_ five years ago, putting him in charge of Bloodstone's sea trade while she saw to the town. Sometimes her work became so demanding she could not get out to sea for months, even a year or more. But this was her life now, one she had chosen and one she lived well. She was at peace in her work. Bloodstone had placed itself with full trust into her hands; she would put everything she had into making it prosper and destroy anything that dared threaten it.


	2. Return of the King

Disclaimer: I do not own Fable, but what wouldn't I give to own Reaver?

Author's Memorandum: Thank you very much for those of you who have decided to come along for the journey as I revise IW&L. You have no idea how much it means to me. I am overwhelmed by your support. But enough of my yammering. On with the story!

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Chapter Two

Return of the King

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Mist still hung heavily in the air, obscuring most of the coastline ahead, but it mattered not to one born from the sea. The Pirate King inhaled deeply, the tangy salt in the breeze clearing his lungs and his mind. Soon he would be home. It had been too long. As diverting as Samarkand had been, he had come to miss the sheer anarchy and licentiousness of Bloodstone. Come to that, should he not be able to smell the stale scent of booze and unwashed humanity even from here? He shrugged. No matter. He would be lost in cheap liquor and even cheaper women soon enough.

The Pirate wandered back to his cabin to perform his morning ablutions, and after he'd bathed, his cabin boy served him a light repast as he donned fresh clothes. Despite his relaxed demeanor, the Pirate could feel an eagerness building inside him. _Perhaps I_ ' _ll host a party in my honor once I_ ' _m settled back in my manor_ , he mused as he returned above deck. The ship was just entering the harbor while the sea mist slowly cleared, evaporating in the burn of the morning sun.

His eyes looked around eagerly, but as he took in the sights before him, Reaver frowned. This wasn't Bloodstone. It couldn't be. It was too... _clean_. The polished houses, quaint shops, and foot-worn cobblestones along the boardwalk resembled nothing of his brawling, sprawling Bloodstone. _What_ _i_ _s the meaning of this_?

Turning to his current first mate, who turned white as a sheet under the Pirate's sudden scrutiny, Reaver casually asked, "Heraldo, where have we made port?"

The man gave his crew-mates a brief, apprehensive look before gulping and facing his Captain. "Bloodstone, Sir."

In a flash of powder and smoke, Heraldo dropped to his knees before collapsing to the deck, dark blood pooling around him. Reaver turned his pistol to the next nearest crew mate. He posed the same question.

"We're in Bloodstone, Sir, honest. You can e-e-even ask the dockworker there." He quailed for a second under Reaver's gaze before his superior nodded and holstered his weapon. Leaning over the guardrail, he hailed a young lad. The boy was dressed in peasant's clothing and carrying a coil of rope over one shoulder.

"You there, lad, where have we made port?"

"This here is the fine town of Bloodstone, sir," the boy answered brightly. "Have you come to trade?"

Reaver frowned. _What the devil_ _i_ _s going on here_? _Who ha_ _s_ _done this to_ _my_ _beloved Bloodstone_? He intended to get some answers one way or another.

"Aye. I take it there is someone in charge here?" he queried. The lad nodded. Good enough for the Pirate. Turning to his men he barked, "Secure these docks. Line up everyone here on the boardwalk. I need to send a message to whomever thinks to claim my town."

* * *

It was mid-morning and Sparrow was had almost finished her morning patrol. She had just left the _Children of Avo_ which was, in her opinion, one of her best accomplishments; it had once housed the most popular brothel in town, but during her first year as mayor she had converted it into an orphanage. Sparrow had funded the project herself, and continued to do so, having decided long ago that she wanted no orphan to know a moment's starvation and hopelessness the way she and her sister had throughout her childhood. Humming to herself, she resumed her patrol, making her way down the sloping hill toward the harbor and waving to those residents who greeted her. She was almost halfway to the docks when a young lad, looking frightened out of his wits, hastened up to her, heaving as though he'd run all the way from Westcliff and babbling frantically until she could calm him down enough to make sense.

"Kieran, what is the problem, lad?"

He looked at her with panicked eyes. "Pirates, m'lady! They've taken the harbor! Everyone has been captured. My dad is with them!"

Stiffening, she hailed the nearest guard, who came running over to them, and gave him swift orders. "Go up to the guard house, alert the Sheriff that pirates are attacking. Tell him to protect the rest of the town," she said. Then she turned back to the boy and said more gently, "Don't be afraid, Kieran. I'll keep your father safe. I want you to go home and wait for your parents there."

The boy nodded his head repeatedly, then took off up the hill.

Sparrow set a course for the docks, drawing her _Nightwatch_. _4_ _4_ from its holster as she ran. Long minutes passed before the boardwalk came in sight, where she stopped behind a group of shipping crates to assess the situation. Indeed, several pirates were occupying the boardwalk, at least thirty of them. They seemed to have gathered up as many of her citizens as they could, and had them lined up along their docks, kneeling with their hands behind their head. Their leader, a tall man dressed in flamboyant red and gold clothing, was pacing back and forth before them, aiming his pistol at each of them in turn. The more she watched the man, the more a strange prickling seemed to travel up her spine, and as she watched the sunlight shining off his golden-brown hair, she felt a moment of recognition.

 _It couldn_ ' _t be_ _,_ _she thought to herself._ The leader seemed to have singled out one of the hostages. It was Patrick, a simple carpenter, and he seemed terrified as he stared down the barrel of the pirate's pistol. Pushing her thoughts aside, she pressed closer, leveling her pistol carefully before squeezing the trigger.

The gun's report was barely audible, the weapon having been designed for stealth, but the Pirate King's keen hearing picked it up regardless. The sound of it was instantly recognizable to him, but for some unfathomable reason, he failed to react. In a flash the bullet impacted with the side of his pistol, shattering into dozens of shrapnel fragments as his weapon flew from his fingers. There was dead silence as everyone present watched in horrified fascination as the Pirate King's prized _Dragonstomper_. _48_ arced through the air and landed with an undignified _plunk_ several yards out into the harbor.

Belatedly tearing his eyes from the kneeling man, Reaver locked eyes with his adversary, tension rising between them so sharply that pirate and villager alike backed away from the spectacle, eager _not_ to get caught between them.

Sparrow didn't move, nor did she lower her weapon, but kept it trained on Reaver, her eyes hard with contempt. "On what grounds do you attack my town, Pirate King?"

Something in her voice jarred his memory. He glanced her over more thoroughly, taking in the smooth skin that boasted of youth and vibrancy. Her coltish, long-legged figure was held with pride bordering on arrogance, challenging both him and any knave foolish enough to defy her. Her chestnut-colored hair was elegantly pulled back, but he had a sudden vision of it flowing free and tousled in the sea breeze.

"Sparrow?" he mused aloud, hardly believing his eyes. How was this possible? She looked younger than she had the day he'd met her! "By Skorm, it is you. After all this time how is it you stand before me as a youth? Change your opinion about the Shadow Court after all?" he asked loftily.

She gave him a hard smile. "Never. _My_ agelessness is the will of Avo and the Light. Apparently selflessness is just as worthy as selfishness, in the grand scheme of things. Now answer my question, Pirate, before I'm forced to spill your brains across the boardwalk."

Reaver scowled, immediately remembering his previous anger. "Very well, if you _must_ know, I came to reclaim my home, but instead I found" - he gestured violently at the houses and shops - " _this_ ," he spat, making the word sound more filthy and vulgar than any obscenity.

Sparrow nodded. "And?"

Reaver glared at her. "And? _And_? And just _what_ has happened to my beautiful, lawless Bloodstone? This was my coastal paradise. Now look at it. Not a whore or brigand in sight."

"I'm what happened, Pirate," Sparrow said pleasantly.

" _You_?" he scoffed, clearly incensed. "You _dared_ to do this?" He stepped toward Sparrow aggressively, but was forced to a pause when the thundering of footsteps sounded behind her. In seconds a unit of guards in formation stood behind their Mayor, weapons drawn. They were headed by Sheriff Sedgewick, an aged but muscular man. He had served as a guard in Bowerstone for thirty years before coming to Bloodstone to help bring law and order to the place.

"I see you've got the situation well in hand," Sedgewick said dryly, smiling under his pure-white, neatly-groomed mustache.

"Indeed. And you have secured the town?" she asked.

"Of course, ma'am."

She nodded and addressed the Pirate. "You have been gone a long time, Pirate King. Things have changed around here. For instance, threatening a man's life and holding half my town hostage is a serious criminal offense. I'm going to have to take to take you and your men into custody. And before you argue" - she cut him off as he opened his mouth - "please remember you are unarmed, outnumbered, and in no position to object."

Reaver laughed. A true, mirth-filled laugh. "Oh, very well Sparrow, it is clear you have me 'cornered and outgunned'. Speaking of guns, do you think you could at least have one of these strapping young lads dive into the briny and fish mine out?"

Partially turning her face to Sedgewick while keeping her eyes on Reaver, she said, "Once we have his men into custody send one of _them_ down for it." Her sheriff nodded, and she returned her full attention to Reaver. She held out her hand to Sedgewick, who handed her a pair of shackles.

Approaching Reaver, she took his wrists.

"Oh, I didn't know you to be _this_ adventurous, Sparrow," he purred. "To be honest, I think these would look much better on you."

With a hard smile, she tightened the first shackle until he winced. The second she reached for his other hand, he grabbed her, spinning her around as he wrapped the chains between his shackles around her neck. Reacting on instinct, Sparrow kept spinning until she was facing him once more, ignoring the tightening of the sturdy chain. The triumph in Reaver's eyes faded as he felt the cold steel of her _Nightwatch_ pressed against the underside of his jaw. "Well played," he drawled with a forced smile. She cocked the hammer for emphasis, her eyes blazing. Reaver swallowed hard and grudgingly released the tension in the chain.

As soon as she was free, she motioned Sedgewick forward, and together they took a firm hold of the Pirate and cuffed his hands behind his back. When that was completed, she turned to the villagers. "Everyone please return to your homes until otherwise notified," she said in a loud, calm voice. Turning to her guards, she added, "Secure the rest of them. If they resist, shoot them. We show no mercy for pirates."

Together, she and Sedgewick dragged Reaver up the sloping road to the small jailhouse. Though it was hardly ever used, Sparrow was glad now that she'd had one build. After they'd forced him into a cell, she ordered two guards to thoroughly check the pirate for any other weapons – a process he seemed to enjoy a little too much – before they locked him inside. Just as she was about to leave the jailhouse, the Pirate's voice stopped her.

"Sparrow, you can't seriously mean to leave me in here," he pleaded.

"That is exactly what I mean to do," Sparrow said, "at least until I can set up the trial."

The Pirate King looked stunned. "A trial? Surely that's not necessary."

Sparrow arched an eyebrow. "You are the most infamous pirate to sail the nine seas. You attacked my town. Add in the fact that the bounty on your head is worth more gold than this town sees in a fiscal year, and you can hardly be surprised. What were you expecting? A room at our most luxurious inn and a bottle of our finest wine?"

"Well, I wouldn't have turned it down," Reaver said. Sparrow rolled her eyes and started to walk away again. "Wait!" he called. "Come on, Sparrow, be reasonable. It's not like I killed anyone."

"That changes nothing," Sparrow said. "Now if you'll excuse me, I need to send letters to the other leaders of Albion."

With that Sparrow left the prison, Sedgewick trailing behind her. As soon as the door was shut and they'd walked several feet away, she addressed her sheriff. "I want a 'round the clock guard detail. _None_ of them are to be armed, do I make myself clear? Reaver is as wily as he is vicious. I don't there to be any opportunity for him to pilfer a weapon."

Sedgewick nodded, looking concerned.

"What's wrong?" Sparrow asked.

"Before we retook the harbor, I heard talk among the guard," he began.

"And?" Sparrow prompted.

"As you'll recall, many of them, as well as the townspeople, were his subjects," Sedgewick said. "Some even served aboard his ship. There are many who fear his wrath. And still others who believe he has come to restore the old ways."

Sparrow internally flinched at the thought. It pained her to know that after all she'd done for Bloodstone, not all embraced her rule. She couldn't imagine what more she could have done to win them over. Regardless, there was no way she was going to step aside so the Pirate King and a few malcontents could destroy everything she'd accomplished.

"So what do you recommend?" she asked. "We can't leave him unguarded."

"He must be heavily restrained," Sedgewick thoughtfully, "and the guard duty should be split between you, Daniels, and myself."

Sparrow nodded. "Very well. Restraining further will be no easy matter. I don't want this turning into a tussle. That will only give him the chance to either injure one of us or even escape. I suggest we pay a visit to the apothecary."

The aging Sheriff nodded again. "My thoughts exactly. I'll go myself. You'll stay with him?"

Sparrow nodded, then grudgingly turned back to the jailhouse. Reaver was eying her with an amused smile when she reentered.

"Reconsidered, have you?" he said imperiously. "I knew you'd come to your senses. Of course, I'll expect a public apology."

"Deluded as ever," Sparrow said. "Some things never change."

"I prefer to think of myself as optimistic," Reaver said pleasantly. "If you're not going to release me, why have you returned?"

"Sheriff Sedgewick is setting up your guard detail," she lied. "It falls to me to watch you until he returns."

The Pirate scowled. "Just how long must we keep up this charade? We both know you're not actually going to have me brought up on charges."

Deciding not to dignify him with a response, Sparrow sat herself behind Sedgewick's desk, but before she could get comfortable Daniels barged into the jailhouse, worry clearly written on his face. When he saw Reaver behind bars, he looked stunned. "So the rumors among the guard were true. Yeh've returned." He then turned to his Captain angrily. "What were yeh thinking, facing down the Pirate King without any sort of backup? Capt'n?"

Sparrow almost laughed at the idea that she would have done it any differently. "Oh come on, Daniels, give me some credit. I've got the man locked up behind iron bars."

Her Commander did not look appeased. "Yeh coulda been killed."

"But I wasn't," she said seriously. "No one was. If I had waited for backup, that might not have been the case."

Daniels gave Reaver a hard glare. The Pirate smiled suggestively back at him.

"Yeh should 'ave the wretched pirate hanged," Daniels said coldly.

"In all likelihood he will be," Sparrow said. "But not without a trial. Given that his crimes stretch across the length and breadth of Albion, I must confer with the mayors of Westcliff, Oakfield, Brightwood, and Bowerstone. Most likely they'll come here and the five of us will hold a trial.

Daniels scoffed. "Why bother? There's no question of his guilt."

"Because we are not heathens," Sparrow said sharply. "Guilty though he may be, we must uphold the law. He has a right to a trial, and so he shall have one."

Daniels held his silence, and Sparrow leaned forward across the desk. "Since I'm holed up here, I'd like you to check on the town."

Daniels nodded and left the jailhouse, clearly displeased over his commanding officer's decision.

The Pirate, meanwhile, was standing at the barred window of his cell, his nose wrinkled in distaste as he looked out over the town.

"I must say, little Sparrow, I don't much care for what you've done with the place," he said.

Sparrow glared at him. She did not like having him here in her town, even if he was behind bars. She'd had no desire whatsoever to see this man again. He was a relic of her past; he had been part of her ten-year quest to avenge her sister, even if he'd only come into the picture at the very end, but still, she didn't need any reminders of those days. "Reaver, what are you doing here?" she asked with sudden exasperation. "Why did you have to come back?"

He glanced at her over his shoulder, looking surprised at her tone. "Well, as you know, I have some friends around these parts to whom I owe a debt. I had hoped to spend some leisure time in my manor throwing decadent parties or even taking a stroll down to the _Blue Lagoon_ , but I expect that's quite impossible now, isn't it."

She nodded. "Indeed. It's an orphanage now."

Reaver snorted. "Of course it is." He shook his head and continued on. "I had no idea I would find _you_ of all people running things here. I assumed some lesser pirate would step into my shoes and hold down the fort. Never did I imagine that anyone would come along and actually bring _order_ to this place."

"Well, I did," Sparrow said.

"So I see," he said, looking out the window again.

At that moment Sheriff Sedgewick returned, and Sparrow quickly stood from the chair. "Sedgewick. I assume you've arranged everything."

"Yes, ma'am," he said.

"Good," she said, quickly stepping around him. "I need to head back to my office to send those letters to the other mayors."

Sedgewick nodded and Sparrow eagerly left the jailhouse, eager to escape the pirate's presence.

* * *

Late that evening Commander Daniels found his captain still working at her desk, although 'working' might not have been the right word for it. She was sitting almost completely still, staring out one of the windows, biting her lip as she scratched absently at a sheet of parchment with her quill.

"Cap'n?" he said uncertainly, as she hadn't yet acknowledged his presence.

Her attention snapped to him, and she stood from behind her desk. "Daniels," she said sharply. "What news?"

"I sent out those missives by ship, just as yeh ordered," he said.

"And the prisoner?" she asked.

"Sedgewick slipped him a sleeping draught in his wine. Put the pirate out before he could finish his evening meal," Daniels said, sounding pleased. "We retrained him in a chair after that, using the sturdiest steel shackles the blacksmith had on supply. 'E willna be goin' anywhere anytime soon."

Sparrow nodded. "Good work. I take it Sedgewick has been on guard all day?" Daniels nodded. "Very well. I'll guard him tonight if you'll take the morning shift tomorrow."

"Aye, Cap'n," he said. "I'll bid yeh goodnight."

He left, and Sparrow forced herself to pack up the paperwork she'd barely made any headway on and took it with her down to the jailhouse; she'd need something to keep herself occupied in the long hours ahead.

Her first urge upon entering the jailhouse was to burst out laughing. She restrained the impulse, but she couldn't help the smirk that played about her lips. Daniels said they had restrained the Pirate. That was a vast understatement. He sat in a large, metal chair with his wrists and ankles restrained to the arms and legs of the chair. There were chains wrapped around his torso, holding him to the back of the chair, and a leather strap holding his head to the headrest.

Reaver, for his part, was watching her with cold eyes that promised swift and bloody retribution.

 _Drat_ , she thought to herself. She had been hoping her would still be asleep. Then at least she would have some peace while she worked.

"My lady," the Sheriff said, drawing her attention to him. "I'm hoping our security measures meet with your approval?"

Sparrow's lips trembled in spite of herself, and Reaver's glare intensified, as though he was daring her to laugh.

"Yes, thank you, Mister Sedgewick," she said in the most neutral voice she could manage.

"Will you require anything else before I retire?" he asked.

"No, thank you."

With a salute, Sedgewick left her with the prisoner, and Sparrow set her stack of paperwork down on the Sheriff's desk and took her seat. It seemed that paperwork was a never ending chore in her line of work, but she was glad she had it now. Otherwise she'd be stuck here with the Pirate with nothing to do.

Of course, getting him to be quite so she could work in peace was another challenge all together.

"I hope you're relishing this victory," the Pirate said silkily.

"I'd relish your silence even more," Sparrow said pleasantly.

"Then you should have gagged me."

"It's still an option."

The Pirate went quiet for a few moments. Then, "Was this really necessary?"

Sparrow continued to write, refusing give him any personal acknowledgment as she answered. "Obviously it was."

"Afraid I would escape and make you pay for this humiliation?"

"I do not fear you."

"Oh, I think you do," Reaver said. "You fear what will happen when I escape."

"If there was any chance of that, it's gone now. You will face the justice so you richly deserve."

"Come now, Sparrow," Reaver said. "Would you really put me to death? We've fought side by side together. That makes us – why, it makes us comrades-in-arms! Without me, you never would have been able to wreak your revenge on old Lord What's-His-Name."

"We needed you whether or not I wanted you there" Sparrow said. "And you went along with it for your own personal reasons. It had nothing to do with me."

"Oh, details," Reaver said pleasantly. "Why ruin a good memory by getting bogged down in the hows and whys?"

Sparrow did not dignify him with an answer. _Good memory_ , _indeed_.

There were a few more minutes of silence, punctuated only by the scratching of her quill, then the Pirate tried again.

"There is one important matter we need to discuss," he said.

"And what is that?" she asked, keeping her voice distant and uninterested.

"My debt."

"To society?"

"To the Shadow Court."

"I didn't realize that was important, nor that we needed to discuss it."

"It is important, at least if you wish to have me around long enough to stand trial."

For the first time, Sparrow looked up at him.

"Explain."

Looking smug, Reaver adjusted himself in his chair as much as his restraints would allow before continuing. "As you know, I struck a bargain with the Shadow Court many, many decades ago. And every ten years I must offer them a sacrifice of youth to maintain my own."

"So you'll get old if you don't pay it," Sparrow said. "I hardly see how this is my problem."

"I'll do more than age, Sparrow darling," he said patronizingly. "If I don't make my payment in full and on time, the Shadow Court will come for me, and then your trial will be moot."

Sparrow leveled him with a glare. "It would be no less than you deserve."

"Maybe," Reaver conceded. "But you said yourself that I deserve a fair trial, no matter what I've done. To knowingly allow my demise at the hands of the Shadow Court, why, it would be no better than if you executed me yourself this very moment. And then what? Where's the justice in that? I thought you told your man that you weren't heathens, that I deserved a fair hearing. It's the law."

Sparrow cursed under her breath. The Pirate had a point, as much as she hated to admit it. But she wasn't ready to give in. "There is no justice if I allow you to sacrifice another unknowing innocent."

Reaver scoffed. "It's not like the man is going to die, Sparrow. He'll have his youth sapped away from him, but he will survive. And he won't be unknowing, or even unwilling. I have a volunteer."

"A volunteer?" she said incredulously. "Why would anyone volunteer to have their youth and vitality sapped away so you could keep yours?"

"Oh, come now, Sparrow," Reaver said. "My crew, though able-bodied and competent, are a simple and superstitious lot, as most sailors are. They don't sail with me just for the plunder. They follow me because I'm a living legend. They've seen what I can do, and they revere me for my abilities. Why, I'm practically a god to them. Any one of themselves would sacrifice themselves for me without hesitation."

Sparrow rolled her eyes. "Alright, so you've talked one of them into going to the Shadow Court for you. What is it you want from me, then? My blessing?"

"In a sense," Reaver said. "The man is currently in your custody. I would need you to release him, at least long enough for him to fulfill his duty."

"And say I do that," Sparrow said. "I'm not saying I will, but say I do. Will your man be able to make is through Wraithmarsh, and then survive the trip back in the condition he'll be in?"

"Well, I was going to take him myself, but thanks to you, it doesn't seem like that will be happening."

"So you want me to take him."

Reaver smiled. "Well, it would only be right. It is thanks to you that I can't take him myself."

Sparrow didn't answer him, but went back to her paperwork as she thought it over. Reaver was right. If she allowed him to be taken by the Shadow Court, especially when there was a man who would willingly go for him, it would be no different than if she killed him herself. As much as it rankled her to allow this to happen, she knew she would never sleep again if she just stepped aside and allowed Reaver to be taken by the Shadows.

 _He brought this on himself_ , a voice in her head argued. _Neither you nor his_ sacrifice _owe him anything_. That was true. But a part of her _did_ feel like she owed him something. He had fought beside her, no matter what the circumstances. If he hadn't, she never would have had her revenge on Lucien. And it wasn't as if he was sacrificing one of her own citizens, or some other unknowing innocent. One of his own crew, a scoundrel of a pirate, was volunteering to go. All she had to do was escort the man. Then Reaver would stand trial, as would the rest of his crew, and all of them would be put to death anyway.

Swallowing hard, she finally nodded. "Very well," she said. "I will escort your volunteer."

Reaver gave her a patronizing smile. "Thank you," he said, although his tone conveyed no gratitude whatsoever. "If you wouldn't mind, I have one other request."

"I'm am not obligated to grant you anything, but go on."

"I want to accompany you to the Shadow Court."

"Out of the question," Sparrow said immediately. There was no way she was going to release Reaver from his prison and go gallivanting with him through Wraithmarsh. "It's too high of a risk. I need to be focused on the dangers of the Marsh, and not on keeping you in line."

Reaver shrugged. "You're a noble, trustworthy soul, Sparrow, and as such I can't trust you go without me. It's my soul on the line here. You might have an attack of conscience halfway through and I need to make sure this delivery takes place." When Sparrow looked as though she still might deny him, he added, "Keep me shackled, if you must. My life is in your hands already. What difference will it make if it's here or in the Marsh?"

She scowled. "Fine. We'll leave in a few days. A trip through the fen and back can take a full day, and I'll need time to make the preparations." She leaned back in her chair, grumbling to herself, and the Pirate wisely chose to maintain his silence. After a while she went back to her paperwork. She could feel the Pirate watching her, scrutinizing her, and it set her teeth on edge.

"What?" she snapped.

"Is that what you intend to do all night?" he asked. "Being mayor must have changed since I was here last. I never would have been caught up in such drudgery."

She sniffed with an air of annoyance. "Yes, well, look at the state the town was in when you were here last. Keeping Bloodstone prosperous takes some work, and yes, some _drudgery_ , but at least it's not the cesspool that it was when I found it."

"Work, work, work," he groused. "Is that all you do, Sparrow? I remember a time when you were a fresh young Hero, hell bent on revenge, of course, but still treating life as an adventure."

"Oh shut it, Reaver," she snapped, annoyed at his comment. When she'd met Reaver, she'd been anything but a fresh, young Hero; she'd been a traumatized young woman fresh out of the Spire. Far from an adventure, her life had been days upon days of violence and bloodshed, followed by long, restless nights through which she was tormented by terrifying dreams. "You know nothing at all about my life," she said quietly. Resuming her work, she did her best to ignore his bored sighs and moans. It wasn't long before he was interrupting her again.

"Was it _really_ necessary to restrain me like this?" he asked.

"Is that a real question, or are you just asking to annoy me?"

He smirked again. _Little Sparrow_ , he thought to himself. Though she was hardly so little anymore. She looked so young, but he could see she had become a fierce leader, almost his match in every way. Hell, she'd managed to capture him, and that said much about her. He watched his captor closely, reading the serious lines that would be etched into her face someday. She had changed much. Gone was the windblown hair and colorful, skimpy garments. Looking at her now, it was hard to envision her in those form-fitting legging that hugged her round bottom, that tight corset the forced her pretty breasts upward in a way that almost begged a man to play with them, and of course, those sleek boots that fitted so nicely to her long, shapely legs. In that moment, he felt an urge to tear away her restrictive, no-nonsense uniform and release her wild curls from the chignon atop her head, just to see a glimpse of the Sparrow from years past. Of course, that was quite impossible. She'd had him physically restrained so that he couldn't even scratch his own nose, and she was planning on having him executed. The very idea almost made him forget his kind thoughts toward her. He'd give anything at this moment to have their roles reversed, to have her bound to one of the masts on his ship, where she would be at _his_ mercy. A mercy which he would deny. He would punish her for this, that much he promised himself. He would relish and savor every moment of it. _Soon_ , he promised himself. Soon he would find a way to escape, and then he would teach her a lesson she would never forget,

Self-conscious under his intense scrutiny, Sparrow began to fidget and shift until finally her eyes flashed up to his, and she almost looked away. There was dark hunger in his eyes that had not been there minutes ago. A look so malicious that she almost flinched, but she refused to back down. Licking her lips, which had suddenly gone dry, she tried to glare him down. "Is there something you want?" she asked, forcing her tone to remain neutral.

Reaver watched her tongue trace the fullness of her lips until it disappeared back into her mouth, a mouth he imagined screaming for mercy, and for a moment he was so caught up in the fantasy that he almost missed her question. "You're so different. You hardly resemble the Sparrow I remember."

"And what of it?" she asked, trying to sound indifferent. "Do you know I am almost forty years old? No matter what I look like, I'm not a little girl running off on an adventure anymore. I have a town and ships and responsibilities."

"What good is any of that?" he scoffed. "Life is about enjoying every moment to its fullest."

She shook her head and tried to ignore him. He kept his eyes on her, chuckling to himself as she tried to pretend he didn't exist. "So, I see you finally found a man," he said conversationally.

She stared at him for a moment but went back to filling out paperwork. "What are you prattling on about now?"

He smiled pleasantly. "The sailor boy. The one who practically wet himself over you facing the terrible Pirate King without him."

Sparrow blushed. "He's not my man, he's my Commander. And he was only concerned. He meant well."

"He seems quite smitten with you, though I can't see how that's possible," he said coolly.

Sparrow frowned at his sudden tone. "What is that supposed to mean? Just cause I don't go throwing myself at every man doesn't mean one can't fall in love with me."

"So then why _isn_ ' _t_ he your man?" When she didn't answer, he pressed on. "It's not like he's unwilling."

Her back stiffened. "That's none of your business."

He chuckled. "I see you sitting there, buried in your work and dressed in your gold nautical braid. But remember, I knew you before this. On the outside you play the part well, yet I see the spark in your eyes that says the real you is in there somewhere. Or is it just wishful thinking?" He smirked at her, but it was a mocking look. "Is that why he isn't your man? You have become cold? Only patsies such as your 'Mister Daniels' want a frigid bitch who can freeze his parts off, but could it be that you don't even have the heart in you to return his feelings?"

Sparrow looked into his changeable eyes, right now the color of a storm at sea, and spoke with a calm that surprised even her. "You may have known me once, Pirate, but like I said, a lot has changed. No matter what you may think, this is who I am now. We'll deal with your debt, like I promised, but we have nothing else to discuss beyond that. Speak another word between now and then, and I will have you gagged. Do I make myself clear?"

The Pirate only obligingly and pressed his lips together in a tight smile. Sparrow rolled her eyes and went back to work while the Pirate's eyes darkened, challenging all that she claimed.


	3. Turning the Tables

Disclaimer: I do not own Fable.

Author's Note: Hey guys sorry about the delay. I've been having technical difficulties with my computer. I could get to my story to post the next chapter. I hope you enjoy and look forward to your feedback. Again, thank you so much to everyone who is still following! Some big changes to this chapter. Brace yourself.

Warning: There is very **VIOLENT CONTENT** in this chapter. If you don't like that or you aren't old enough, you know the drill. And in case you don't, here it is: _Skip It Or Go Read Something Else_. I personally couldn't care less if you're underage and read it, I mean, I've been there, but if you don't like it or can't handle it, then you really shouldn't.

* * *

Chapter Three

Turning the Tables

* * *

It was seven days later. Sparrow was at home, standing next to the window in her office. Mrs. Kumar had just served her a light lunch, but Sparrow wasn't interested in food at the moment. She'd finally received replies to the letters she'd sent out to the other mayors of Albion, and stood reading them with a scowl on her face. Daniels had delivered them to her with his morning report, then gone straight to the jailhouse to relieve Sedgewick, who had taken on the nighttime shift of guarding their prisoner.

 _So they_ ' _re all coming_ , she thought to herself. She found herself almost wishing they weren't. Not that she was surprised. The Pirate King was a living legend, and if nothing else the other delegates would come out of curiosity. But at least if they'd refused to come, she could have held the trial on her own straight away, and then carried out the sentence at dawn, negating the need to fulfill his _request_. As it was, however, they wouldn't be arriving for at least another month, which left her no choice. The sacrifice had to be made, and soon, meaning she would have to escort the Pirate and one of his crew through the Marsh.

It still perturbed her that he insisted on coming along. She couldn't see any particular need for it, other than the Pirate using it as a mean to escape. But then, she still had his ship, his crew, and his gun. And he would be bound in shackles, of course. It wasn't like he would make it far, even if he did manage to get away.

Briefly, she considered taking Daniels or Sedgewick along with them, as extra insurance, but she decided against it. That would only divide her focus. She would be more focused on keeping her men safe, and she knew from experience that that could have bad consequences. No, she worked best alone.

Taking quill to parchment, she wrote a brief missive to Daniels, letting him know of her decision, and to carry it out. She would take a shift guarding the prisoner this afternoon, and in the morning the prisoner's hands were to be heavily bound, but his feet left unshackled. The same for his _volunteer_. They would leave at first light. She summoned a guard to deliver her missive, then retired back to her office.

* * *

 _Sparrow could have laughed aloud when she first laid eyes on Reaver the next morning. She had arrived at the_ _jailhouse_ _at the crack of dawn to_ _retrieve the Pirate_ _._ _After seven days in that chair, being allowed out only once a day to use a chamberpot_ _,_ _to say_ _he looked awful_ _did not begin to tell it_ _._ _H_ _is hair was askew, looking lifeless and dull, and the creases in his face and clothes proved he had not had a restful night_ _in a long time_ _._

 _The Pirate was_ _glar_ _ing_ _at her through_ _hazy eyes, thinking for a disoriented moment that she looked different this morning. Her hair was pulled back in a long braid and wound in a coil atop her head. The loose shirt she wore was pure black trimmed with liquid-_ _gold_ _cloth, complemented by tight black trousers and black leather boots that reached to her knees. He shook the distraction away as he remembered his predicament, and the look he gave Sparrow promised severe retribution; instead of being properly intimidated, however, his captor had the audacity to_ _smirk_ _at him._

Sparrow had no sympathy for the man, and checked his bindings without compassion. Sedgewick had bound him very well. His wrists were held closely together behind his back by manacles, and even his elbows were bound together by a length of rope. A chain was attached to his manacles, so that she could keep him connected to her. The Sheriff handed her the end of it, and entreated her to be cautious.

"I've secured him the best I can while keeping him mobile," Sedgewick said, "but you should remain vigilant."

Sparrow thanked him, then pulled on the end of the chain to urge the Pirate forward.

"Stay ahead off me," Sparrow instructed. There was no way she was going to trust this man to walk behind her. The Pirate sneered at her but moved to the fore.

Down on the boardwalk, they were met with one of Reaver's own crew, who was shackled in a similar manner as his captain. Sheriff Sedgewick stood the man next to Reaver, then used a sturdy rope to tie them together at the upper thigh, like the three-legged race competition held during the summer festivals.

"Oh, now, _really_ ," the Pirate said. "Isn't this going a bit far?"

"You said you wanted to come along," Sparrow said. "This is how it's going to be."

"And I'm to be left unarmed and helpless?" Reaver complained. "I won't even be able to run if there's danger, strapped as I am to this oaf."

Sparrow looked at him in disbelief. "Of course you're going to remain unarmed. I am more than capable of handling whatever we find in the Marsh. Now be silent and let me do my job."

On they trudged up the hill leading out of town, and as the road turned soggy and the white fog began to press in on them, Sparrow's senses immediately flared out, seeking information in the eerie silence. Everyone and everything, even the marsh itself, seemed to be holding its breath. Even Reaver remained thankfully silent, but he seemed unimpressed by his surroundings. He had put on an expressionless mask in place of his normally charming smile; his eyes were hard and as cold as the grave, and she flinched away from them.

The fog was so thick this morning that they could barely see a few feet in front of them. Sparrow and Reaver knew the way by heart, pressing forward in silence. The young pirate with them appeared scared out of his mind and he stumbled several times on the road, nearly taking Reaver down with him.

They were lucky. They made it all the way to their destination without mishap, though the lack of resistance on the part of the Marsh made Sparrow nervous. At the large stone gate guarding the Shadow Court, Sparrow took the dark seal from her pack and inserted it into the grooves like a key, turning it three times before an audible _click_ pierced the silence. She forced the doors open. Sparrow shivered as she got her first look at the Shadow Halls. Almost a decade had passed since she'd last stepped foot here. Nothing had changed. She could detect no sign of danger, but remained alert, prepared for an ambush.

* * *

Reaver did not speak a word; he could feel an invisible weight pressing down on him, dampening out his soul. He felt this every time he came to pay his debt. He knew it to be the weight of his past, of Oakvale, but he refused to think of it. _That wasn_ ' _t_ _me_ , he told himself. He steeled himself against the weight, holding his regal head high, leading his sacrifice forward with no thought of him as more than an object. _That man was not me_. _That past is not mine_. _I am not him_.

At the entrance to the cavernous chamber where the debt would be paid, Sparrow stopped their progress long enough to remove the chain that linked her to the Pirate, and then cut the rope that bound him to his crewman. Finally she took the dark seal and tucked it into the man's belt.

Reaver gave a her a bemused look.

"Take him in by yourself. I'll wait for you here."

Nodding brusquely, he nudged his sacrifice forward with his shoulder, shoving it forcibly into the Court, his jaw clenched in determination.

* * *

Sparrow sighed, feeling a heavy weight pressing down upon her. This wasn't right, but… a deal was a deal. _The man wasn_ ' _t going to die_ , a voice in her head reminded her. It sounded horribly like Reaver. But he was right. Soon Reaver and his man would stand trial, and then they would be gone from this world anyway. Then she could get back to her life. Positioning herself well to the side of the archway, she aimed her pistol and waited for the Thief to return. Strange, but she couldn't hear anything going on in the inner chamber. What was happening?

A sudden surge of power and a high scream answered her question. She didn't have to wait long before a withered form came running wildly out of the Court, sobs and screams echoing off the cavernous halls. He took no notice of her as he ran past, his screams echoing horribly off the stone walls. She called out to the man, trying to calm him, but he seemed to have gone mad, clawing at his face and shrieking as though he was being tortured. Before she could do or say anything, or even figure out how he had been released from his shackles, he ran headlong down the hall, where a long spike was protruding menacingly from the stone.

"No!" Sparrow cried, but the man did not stop, He ran straight into it, impaling himself on the jagged bit of metal and then hung limply from it as blood gushed out of him. It had gone through his heart.

Stunned, Sparrow looked at his lifeless body, horrified by what she'd just seen. Before she could even decide what to think, she heard dignified footsteps coming from the chamber, and then Reaver stepped through the archway.

His sacrifice had fulfilled its purpose. Reaver looked almost as young as she, and as fair as any maiden. The creases in his skin had vanished, and his hair was sleek and smooth once more, the golden brown so rich it seemed to shine in the darkness. His eyes, blue like the sea before a storm, immediately sought hers. They were empty of everything save a fierce, primal hunger that sent a shiver down her spine.

"You –" she whispered into the deafening silence. "You said he was a volunteer! That he was willing to do this for you!"

Reaver looked at the impaled body, hanging limply from the wall. "He did volunteer," he said, his face and voice devoid of all emotion.

"And did you even tell him what was going to happen to him?" Sparrow almost shouted, suddenly shaking with anger.

The Pirate shrugged in answer. Sparrow felt herself go cold with fury as she kept her pistol trained on him. "You're a monster," she hissed. "I should kill you now. You don't deserve a trial. You don't deserve to live."

"I am a monster, and worse," the Pirate said. "But we both know you don't have what it takes to murder me, Sparrow. You're much too _noble_ for that."

"You'd deserve it," she whispered.

The Pirate did not answer, but walked over to her, ignoring her pistol that was still leveled with his chest. He kept coming until the barrel was pressed against his chest, and Sparrow shuddered as his sharp gaze pierced her. She sucked in her breath, unable to look away from his hard, soulless eyes. They burned her, drained her, made her unable to think. They were hypnotic, swirling with darkness and shadows, and Sparrow had to fight hard to make herself look away.

"My business is finished here," the Pirate said quietly. "Unless you're planning to execute me now, we should get out of this wretched place."

Swallowing hard, she jerked the pistol away.

"Fine," she said. "Let's go." And after reattaching the chain to his manacles, they headed back out into the fen.

* * *

It had been several hours since they'd left the Shadow Court, and still they had not found the road out of the Marsh. The fog was so thick it was like a swirling white soup, and though it was probably mid afternoon, they could not even see the sun, so it was impossible to know for sure what time it was. Sparrow was growing apprehensive. She'd never had so much trouble finding her way out of the mist before. It almost felt as though the Marsh was deliberately toying with them.

Despite her frustration, she was doing her best to try to keep calm and find the road, but Reaver's constant sighs and impatient comments were distracting her. Finally, when she could take no more, she said, "Look, if you're so smart, why don't you try to find the way?"

The Pirate smiled and shrugged. "Why would I do that? I have to admit, I do enjoy watching you squirm."

"Well unless you want to spend the night in this awful place, I suggest you stop distracting me."

The Pirate chuckled. "If anyone could use a little distraction, it's you."

Sparrow didn't know what to make of that, but before she could think of anything to say in reply, she heard a familiar, hair-raising shriek tear through the silence of the Marsh. They both wheeled around, and through the foggy mist they saw the cloaked, spectral form floating menacing toward them.

"Banshee," Sparrow whispered as Reaver drew closer to her.

"More than one," he hissed back, and Sparrow looked around to see a second apparition floating out of the mist, followed by two more. Standing back to back now, she and the Pirate shifted around in circular pattern, trying to keep them all in their sights at the same time.

"I count four," Reaver said.

"I've never seen so many attack at the same time," she said, drawing a second pistol out of her boot.

"I don't suppose you're going to let me use that," the Pirate said.

"Of course not," she said, aiming both her weapons at two of the banshees.

"I'm thinking now might be a good time to let bygones be bygones."

"You've got to be joking."

"Even if I am, they're not," Reaver said. "And you've only got a few seconds to decide."

The banshees were drawing in closer now, and Sparrow could hear their whispers of despair inside her own mind. Soon they would summon their young, and she would be horribly outnumbered. As much as she hated to admit it, should would need the Pirate's help with this one. If she wanted to make it out alive.

"Fine," she snapped, putting the spare pistol back and reaching for her knife. "You better not make me regret this."

Quickly, she sawed through the ropes binding his elbows, then using her Strength, she broke the chain between his manacles. She hesitated, however, when he held out his hand for the spare pistol, but they were completely surrounded now. The shrieking of the banshees was becoming unbearable, and already one of them was summoning her children.

"Here!" she said, thrusting the spare pistol into his hand. He took it from her and they stood back to back again as they were swarmed by tiny banshee children. They were easy enough to kill, but in numbers they could overwhelm.

They fired shot after shot, eradicating the horde of banshee children, before attacking the banshees head on. They could only tackle two at once, however, and Sparrow could feel the other two draining her of life, their insidious messages being whispered in her mind, trying to pull her into despair. She glanced at Reaver over her shoulder, but he stood straight and tall, his expression hard as he relentlessly assaulted the banshee closest to him.

His shots were so fast and accurate she could barely follow them. Indeed, he dispersed the first banshee with ease and was on to his second before she'd finished her first. Before he could kill that one too, however, they summoned another horde of children to attack them.

"Don't you have some kind of magic ability that could take out these things?" he asked impatiently.

Sparrow was surprised at his suggestion, but she did not answer. She hadn't used her Will in several years. Not only did she rarely have the need, but it made her townspeople uncomfortable to see her wielding magic. The use of Will was an ancient, mostly lost ability. Her people accepted that she didn't age, they accepted her history as a Hero, but for the most part they were happier when she made herself as much like them as she could. And that included limiting the use of her abilities. Over time, this had resulted in their weakening, until at best she could summon a handful of flames to light a room.

This, however, was not something she wanted to share with the Pirate King. "Are the little banshee children too much for you, Pirate?"

He sneered at her, and said nothing more. They finished off the children, then two more banshees, attacking the final one in unison. By now Sparrow could feel herself faltering, the constant drain on her life force was finally having an effect. She tried not to show it. She could afford to let the Pirate see that she was weakening.

When they'd taken out the final banshee, Sparrow did not stop to take a breath. Without so much as a warning, she turned her gun on the Pirate, who stood looking at her with a wry smile on his face.

"Once again, I find myself at the end of your barrel," he said with mock regret. "Can there be no trust between us?"

"No," Sparrow said. "You are still a criminal, and my prisoner. I must keep you in custody and take you back to Bloodstone. Drop the weapon."

The Pirate did not look intimidated, only amused. "Well, Sparrow, it looks like we're going to have a problem there."

"I don't see any problem."

"I do," he said, his lips curving in a wide smile. "I have no desire to return to Bloodstone to find myself at the end of a hangman's noose."

"I can't let you walk, Reaver," she said. "I have a duty to perform, and you are not leaving this Marsh without me."

The Pirate laughed lightly. "Oh, how right you are, Sparrow."

And the Pirate was running toward her, but running wasn't even the right word. It was as though he was moving through space and time; he moved so fast that she could barely see him. She tried to shoot at him, but he was barely a blur, dodging her bullets as easily as if she were throwing rocks at him. Sparrow could barely credit it. She'd known he was the Hero of Skill, but she'd never imagined he had this kind of ability. In the few seconds it took her to fully grasped the situation she was in, he was no longer in front of her, but behind her, and she felt a sharp blow to her skull before she lost consciousness entirely.

* * *

When Sparrow finally managed to pull her senses together, the first thing she became aware of was a dull ache in her head, accompanied by a sharp pain against her cheek. Someone was slapping her, not hard, but hard enough to pull her away from the oblivion she'd been swimming in.

With some effort, she opened her eyes to see Reaver kneeling in front of her.

"Welcome back, little Sparrow."

Confused, she took in her surroundings. They were no longer in the Marsh. Instead they were on the hill overlooking Bloodstone.

"How did we get here?" she asked, her mind foggy.

"I carried you."

Shaking her head, she tried to sit up, but she couldn't move her arms. Looking down, she saw that the chain she'd used to tether the Pirate to her was wrapped around her all the way down to her to her waist, restraining her arms to her sides. Underneath the chain, she could feel her hands, tied behind her back.

"Reaver," she growled. "Release me at once."

"I don't think I will," the Pirate said cheerfully, pulling her up into a sitting position. "I think I like you better this way."

Her heart jumped up into her throat.

As though he sensed her discomfort, he said, "Now, now, Sparrow, no need to fret. Just play nice and there will be no need for anymore... unpleasantness."

"Fine," Sparrow said. "I concede you've beaten me. Let that be enough. You're free to go."

Reaver let out a quiet chuckle. "Not quite, little Sparrow. I still need my ship, my gun, and my crew. _You_ are going to be my ticket out of here. A kind of insurance, if you will. We're going to walk into town, demand that my crew, my _Dragonstomper_ and _Reaver II_ be restored to me, and board my ship. And you are going to do this all without a fuss. If sense in you any effort to escape, I will kill you and everyone in your town, do you understand?"

Sparrow felt her heart leap inside her chest. She knew he was serious. She didn't care what he did to her, but she couldn't let him harm her citizens. "Yes," she replied. Reaver smiled and pulled her _Nightwatch_ from his belt, then pulled her to her feet. Holding her close to him, he kept the pistol to her head as they entered Bloodstone together, taking slow, calculated steps. The first people on the boardwalk to notice them set out to panic, but at Reaver's insistence, Sparrow instructed them to go inside the nearest store or home and lock the doors until this was over. They obeyed her instructions, and the pair reached his ship without incident. The guards posted were alarmed to see their Mayor in peril, but again she spoke soothingly, instructing them to retrieve the Pirate's gun and release his crew. One man took off at a run, and Reaver turned to the remaining guards.

"Now, I demand you step away from my ship," he drawled silkily. "Once the lad has returned my precious _Dragonstomper_ and my crew, we will be on our way."

"Not until you release the Mayor," one of the men protested.

Aiming between his brows, he was ready to fire when Sparrow spoke. "Jackson, don't get smart with him. Just follow my orders and do as the Pirate says."

Defeated, the guards backed away. As they reached the opposite side of the cobbled road the guard returned, bearing the Pirate's pistol. Sedgewick and Daniels were hot on his heels.

"Yeh filthy bastard, release her!" Daniels roared at the Thief.

"Daniels, please stand down," Sparrow almost pleaded when she saw the Pirate start to raise her pistol again. "Don't make more of this ridiculous situation than what it is."

Daniels didn't seem to hear her, so fixed was he on Reaver, who smiled patronizingly back at him. "What manner of man threatens a woman? Take yer fight up with me, Pirate King."

Without hesitation, Reaver removed the pistol from her head and pointed it at her Commander, then squeezed the trigger once, and Daniels fell to his knees on the cobblestones, grasping his right shoulder in agony as bright red blood splattered across the ground.

"Yeh soulless son of a whore, tha' was a cheap shot," Daniels snarled.

Reaver merely shrugged. He hadn't meant to miss, but Sparrow had slammed back against him at the last second, ruining his impeccable aim. Restraining her tighter, he retrained the pistol on her as he smiled at the bleeding man. "Your precious mayor saved you that time," he said. "It won't happen again."

Dismissing him, Reaver turned to the guard with his grubby mitts clutching the Pirate's precious gun. "Bring that here. Nice and slow now. We don't want any more accidents, do we?"

The guard inched forward, holding Sparrow's gaze. She cautioned him, praying he wouldn't try to be brave and do something stupid. But the gun was given to the Pirate without incident.

"Now, all I need is my crew," the Pirate said. "You weren't keeping them in the jailhouse, so I can only assume they've been locked up elsewhere in the town. I'd like them released."

Sedgewick looked to Sparrow, who nodded again. Taking a team of ten guards, he left the scene and it seemed hours had passed before he returned, when in fact it was only a few minutes. When he returned, he and his men were escorting their thirty-some prisoners back to their ship, and Reaver smiled his satisfaction.

When all the men had reboarded the _Reaver II_ , she and the Pirate backed slowly down the dock and up the gangplank, Reaver holding off her men with only his pistol. He shouted a demand that the anchor be raised and they set sail immediately.

"I will be keeping your Mayor. She will be my prisoner, and my property, until I either kill her or tire of her. But who knows, I might just keep her," he added with a wink at Daniels, who cursed loudly and jumped to his feet. Holding his bleeding shoulder, he began to chase after the ship, but the tide was already pulling them out. Sparrow, too, fought too get away, but knew it was futile. Reaver's hold on her was unbreakable, and once the gangplank fell away into the water, she knew there was no point. With the chain wrapped around her, she would sink straight to the bottom of the harbor.

Sparrow she watched as her town grew smaller and smaller, eventually disappearing altogether into the sea mist. She slowly became aware of the men working on the ship around her, then of the Pirate holding her closer than was still necessary. Dimly, she wondered what he thought she would do if he released her. Run away? Indeed, right into the frigid water, miles out to sea, wrapped in a heavy iron chain. _Or not_.

With trepidation, she looked over her shoulder at her captor, uncomfortably aware that their roles were reversed. He was looking down as her with a smug, satisfied look in his eyes, and she suddenly felt defensive. When she tried to jerk out his arms, he tightened his hold.

"Are you going to kill me?" she asked baldly.

Reaver smiled. "Maybe, maybe not," he said. "You took me prisoner and locked me away in your jailhouse. I'd say turn about is fair play. Perhaps I should keep you in the brig overnight," he mused. "By all rights, I _should_ have you executed, as you planned for me."

She swallowed hard. She was at a disadvantage here, on his ship, with his crew, out at sea. It did not look good.

His lips curved into a smile as if he read her mind. "Perhaps you should have taken on those banshees alone. You might not be in this mess."

Cheeks reddened, she opened her mouth to tell him that maybe she should have left him for dead instead, but he pressed a finger to her lips. "Now now, not another word or I shall happily gag you." Her mouth snapped shut and his eyes twinkled vindictively. "Good little Sparrow." Grasping the chain around her, he dragged her to his cabin at the stern end of the ship, roughly tossing her inside the door. "Wait here for me," he ordered. "Unless you have a mind to get better acquainted with my crew," he added, looking at her thoughtfully for a moment. Her glare intensified, letting him know that whatever he was thinking, it wasn't happening.

Once the door was shut and locked, she turned and examined her surroundings. At first, she considered she might be in the wrong room. Or on the wrong ship. This room was exactly what one would expect of any sea captain, with comfortable leather chairs, map tables, and a desk filled with charts and papers. A compass and a globe of the world dominated the center of the room. She spent several minutes pacing around, taking in the maps and charts, and though she was very familiar with Albion, the maps of Samarkand piqued her curiosity.

On the opposite side of the room was a wooden door. Hesitantly, glancing around as though afraid to be caught, she moved closer to it. It took some work, but eventually she managed to grasp the handle with her bound hand, and cracked it open ever so slightly. She gasped as the interior was revealed to her. This was obviously Reaver's private cabin, as it had his unique, strong personality stamped all over it. It was dominated by boisterous shades of red, black, and gold. The walls were lined with cabinets that were probably priceless, made from an exotic wood that was the same hue and intensity of burning fire and inlaid with gold, and the wooden floor was covered with a thick, plush rug in coal black, with fur so thick her feet sank into it. A large bed took over the far corner, and was covered with black sheets, but most decadent of all was an airy flame-silk canopy that covered the top, with silk panels that would conceal the interior once let loose from their cords. But even then, the fabric was sheer and would only partially hide its occupants. The room was completed by a full length mirror lined the wall opposite the bed, obviously placed there for the Pirate to admire his own reflection upon waking.

With a red blush on her cheeks, Sparrow spun around to leave, only to walk straight into something hard. Bouncing back, she peered up and into Reaver's curious eyes.

"I see you're admiring my bed," he said with a sly grin. "Care to try it out?"

She glowered up at him. "Don't get any ideas. Just because you're holding me captive doesn't mean I intend to make this easy or fun for you. If you don't intend to kill me, then just how long do you plan to hold me here?" she asked.

His smile seemed to reach the corners his dark eyes as they gazed at her unblinkingly. "I never said I would not kill you," he said. "After all, you offered me no better."

Sparrow swallowed hard. "You are a wanted man, Reaver. I was only upholding the law."

Reaver shrugged. "I follow no law. You intended death for me. I must decide if I will deliver the same to you." Raising his hand to her face, he trailed his fingers down the curve of her cheek. "But do not fear, little Sparrow. I have much planned for you before that decision is made."

Sparrow swallowed hard, almost afraid to ask what his plans were. Instead she said, "Where are we going?"

He sighed and dropped his hand from her, then moved towards a large wardrobe cut from ebony. He opened it and removed his coat, hanging it inside with care. "I think we may return to Samarkand. As I no longer have a refuge in Bloodstone, I must seek out a new one." He pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it into a basket before turning to her. "Sounds like a grand adventure, wouldn't you agree?"

Sparrow grit her teeth, but was careful with her tongue. As much as it rankled her, the Pirate King held her life in his hands. "I would prefer to return home," she said as politely as she could. "I am no threat to you now."

His smile was warm, but there was a darkness to it, something she had yet to see in Reaver. She had seen him arrogant, and she knew he was a backstabbing man-whore, but she had never seen a look on him like the one he was giving her now. It was as though apart of the Shadow Court had come back with him, was staring out at her through his eyes. A small part, but enough to send a chill up her spine.

He came to her, graceful and sleek, his hands flashing out to pull her toward him again. She landed against his chest, struggling not to lose her balance and trying to put some space between them. He held her close, Shadows swirling in his eyes and a twisted curve in his perfect lips.

"My little Sparrow, do try to understand, you are _my_ captive now. My prisoner. My property. My slave," he whispered, trailing his finger along her cheek. " _You will be whatever I see fit for you to be_. You are not to do anything, or go anywhere, without my expressed permission. Do we understand each other?"

Sparrow stared at him with wide eyes. "Reaver," she said slowly. "Please, be reasonable. You don't need me anymore. You're free and can sail off into the great blue yonder for another decade before we need to see each other again." She spoke calmly, trying to be the voice of rationality. It was a struggle to keep her voice firm but soft, but somehow she managed it.

The Pirate shook his head solemnly. "No, Sparrow," he murmured, almost distractedly, bringing his nose to her hairline and inhaling deeply. He leisurely tugged at her braid, smoothing it out until her hair flowed in wavy locks down to her hips. And then his lips found hers. Sparrow leapt back with a jolt of surprise, but he tightened his fist in her hair as he forced her lips open. His was not gentle; his lips and tongue were brutal against hers, taking from her in a drunken fashion until heat flowed through her, spreading along her limbs.

To her shock, her body answered his; breathy moans spilled from her lips as her body was pressed flush with his, arching into him. The heavy chain was a barrier between them, but the Pirate did not seem in any hurry to remove it. Instead he steered her toward the soft bedding, her urged her down, then abruptly broke his lips from hers and pushed her back on the soft bedding.

Sparrow lay there, panting and breathless, her mind momntarily blank until she suddenly felt his hands encircling each of her knees; he parted her legs and pulled them up high against her chest. Her eyes widened in alarm when she felt him pressed against her through their clothes, and she struggled against the vulnerable position, crying out in alarm. Desperately she fought against her chains. "No!" she cried. "Don't!"

Reaver paused for a moment, looking down at her with a wry grin. "Do you fear me, little Sparrow?" he asked.

Sparrow shook her head. "I am _not_ afraid of you, Pirate," she growled menacingly. "Its just... I can't do _this_ with _you_."

"But you can, and you will. You belong to me, Sparrow, and I will have you," he said, grinding his hips into hers. Her body trembled, and she fought harder against her restraints. It had been so long since she had used her Strength, but desperation gave her some power, and she could hear the iron chain groaning against the force she exerted upon it.

The Pirate heard it too, and remove himself from her so suddenly she stopped struggling. "Ah, yes, I see now," he said thoughtfully. "I almost forgot. You're trying to break through your chains."

"And I will very likely succeed," she said calmly. "I am no weak mortal for you to control."

His expression cleared, but in its place was a twisted smile. "Well, we'll just have to see to that."

Grabbing her, he yanked her up from the bed and set her on her feet. "Don't move," he said tersely.

Sparrow didn't move, wondering just what the Pirate was up to. It sounded as though he was rummaging through a cupboard behind her, but when she chanced a glance over her shoulder, all she could see was his back. _What is he up to_? she wondered.

She had no inkling, and decided that waiting was her only option. As quietly as she could, she continued to struggle against her chains, but she could hardly make any progress now without the noise drawing the Pirate's attention. While she worked at them, her eyes were drawn to the room's only porthole. The sun was setting, and all she could see from her vantage-point was miles and miles of ocean. She thought of their destination; Samarkand was a vast continent to the east, though many of her ships traded with it's westernmost territories, she had never been there herself. Also, most of their trade ships coming from there made port in Bloodstone. Theirs was the closest port on the eastern side of Albion, which gave her hope that once they reached land, she would have no trouble finding a ship that would be able to take her home.

 _Click_.

Sparrow started, interrupted from her musings as she felt a heavy metal object fastened around her throat. It fit snugly, and she felt a familiar, half-forgotten coldness sweep through her, chilling her from head to toe.

"What… what have you done?" she gasped. She'd felt this before, but it just wasn't possible. This couldn't be the same technology. "What is this?"

"You feel it, don't you?" the Pirate whispered silkily in her ear. "Your Will being sapped from you. Your Strength diminishing. Your Skill deserting you. Do you remember?"

Sparrow did remember. She could never forget. She'd woken up in the Spire with that horrible collar around her neck. It had suppressed her powers, given Lucien and his Commandant the means to control her, and even punish her when they saw fit. Even though she was a Hero, it had worked just as effectively on her as any of the other guards. It rendered her as weak as any mortal.

"Take it off!" she cried, desperately struggling against her chains. She was no match for the wrought iron now. The metal restrained her with ease, and she felt a lump forming in her throat. "I mean it. Remove this vile thing from me right this instant!"

Reaver only laughed, and steered her toward the wall mirror so they could both admire his handiwork. "I bought this interesting trinket from a merchant in Samarkand. Wouldn't say how he found it, but I found it quite intriguing," he said conversationally, ignoring her command. With one elegant finger he traced the sleek metal ring that adorned her throat. In the very center of it was a glowing red stone that pulse in rhythm with her own heartbeat. "I made some modifications, as you can see. The original model was a bulky, ghastly thing. I prefer this sleek, elegant design, don't you?"

"I hate it!" she almost screamed. "Remove it from me. You have no right to do this to me, Reaver!"

"Would you prefer what you did to me?" the Pirate asked. "Bound to a chair, unable to move even a finger?"

"I would," Sparrow said.

"Well, I prefer this," Reaver said. "I am no fool. You would eventually break through the chains. You could even summon your Will to fight against me. And though your Skill is not enough to match mine, all your abilities together might prove you a match for me. I'll not allow that."

"Are you too much of a coward to face me, then?" Sparrow taunted.

Reaver seemed completely unperturbed. "I have you at my mercy, Sparrow. That is all that matters. You belong to me, and you will submit to my will."

"I will _never_ submit to you!"

The Pirate's eyes darkened. "You will, Sparrow, or you will suffer terribly." The words were deathly quiet, but she did not miss them.

"No," Sparrow snarled.

"Yes, Sparrow," he said. "And to demonstrate this, I think you need a lesson in what it means to be at the Pirate King's mercy."

The Pirate's countenance instantly changed. Sparrow did not get the chance to resist. He grasped the chain around her and dragged her above deck, where the crew paused in their duties to watch their progress. Reaver stopped before the mainmast and shoved Sparrow forward so forcefully she barely caught herself before falling on her face.

"Behold!" the Pirate called out to his men. "The woman who captured the King of Pirates, the Mayor of Bloodstone!"

The men burst out in rancorous laughter and Sparrow felt her cheeks start to burn. "What are you doing, Reaver?" she hissed at him.

The Pirate ignored her. "Now men, I know, for a brief time you thought your king lost," he said with theatrical despair. "You thought me captured, bound for the headsman's block. You thought our way of life had come to an end. But who among you has not seen me cheat death time and again? Who among you truly believed that this _woman_ could bring down the mightiest pirate to sail the nine seas!"

There came another great whooping of shouts from the crew, and Sparrow stared around her in trepidation, fearful of where this was going.

"My escape was a simple matter," the Pirate continued. "The once mighty Hero of Bowerstone has become lazy and complacent, so focused on leading her little flock of sheep that she was no match for the wolf she'd captured." He paused while the crew laughed. "She thought herself my superior, that she could hold me prisoner, and yes, even bring me to justice," he said in his most mocking tone. "And look at her now. Look at how she cowers before me!"

At those words, Sparrow straightened her spine, glaring at Reaver, who seemed unimpressed with her display. His crew continued to shout and jeer, and the Pirate let them carry on for several moments as they shouted taunts and insults at her. Sparrow did not acknowledge them. They were nothing. It was the Pirate who held her gaze; it was he whom she must fear.

"Prisoner!" he barked suddenly. "Kneel before your king!"

Sparrow swallowed hard as a chill swept down her spine, but she refused to be brought low. The darkness in Reaver's expression intensified.

"I said _kneel_."

At his final word, she felt the sharp strike of a foot against the back of her left knee, and she crashed hard to the deck of the ship. The crew jeered again, and she flung her hair back out of her face as she glared up at the Pirate.

"You see, men," the Pirate called out. "This woman is no match for your king, your god! She is in her rightful place, kneeling before me!"

The crew was almost in a frenzy now, and for a moment Sparrow thought they would fall on her and hack her limb from limb.

"Hang her from the tallest mast!" one man shouted.

"Make her walk the plank!" another jeered.

"Let her wear the rosary of pain!"

The Pirate let them carry on for several minutes, then raised his hand for silence.

"Oh, she will be punished for her blasphemy," he promised fervidly. "For eight days she held me at her mercy. So she will suffer eight lashes as penance. Tie her to the mast!"

A pair of pirates descended upon Sparrow, forcing the chain down her body like a garment until it fell around her feet, and then dragged her toward the main mast. She screamed and thrashed, fighting against them, but she did not have the strength to resist. Bodily she was thrown against the wooden pillar, and her arms were pulled as far around it as far as they could go. They tied each of her wrists with a rope going around the mast, then tightened it to the point that she could not move an inch.

The pirates around her cheered and howled like animals, and for the first time Sparrow felt real fear, though she did her best to hide it. She didn't want to believe this was happening, that Reaver would have her flogged before his men, but when she felt a pair of hands throw her hair over her shoulder and cut open the back of her shirt, instinct took over and she fought at her bindings in earnest.

"Look at her struggle," Reaver laughed cruelly. "Do you wish to beg for leniency, little Sparrow? Do it. Go on, beg me grant you mercy."

There was a small part of Sparrow that almost gave in. Without her powers, she was as weak as any mortal. How could she endure the punishment that was about to befall her? But then she remember. She had endure this and worse at the hands of Lucien and his goons, and her spine straightened. She would not cower. She would not beg. Unable to turn her head to look at the Pirate King, she simply said, "Do your worst. I will not beg before the likes of you."

More laughter followed her bold statement, but Sparrow didn't care, focusing her energy on bracing for the first lash. When it came, it was with all the speed and savagery of a bolt of lightening, accompanied by the same terrible cracking sound, and it left a trail of fire down her back. Her whole body seized, every muscles screaming in protest as the pain ripped through her body. She didn't scream; she couldn't. Even her lungs seem to seize up, until she couldn't breathe.

A second time the lash struck her, and her spine bowed backward as far as her restraints would allow. The air that had been trapped in her lungs was expelled with a great _woosh_ , and she found herself gasping for air. But the pain was too much. She couldn't breathe.

 _Crack_! Another lash. _Crack_! Another.

She was dimly aware of the cheers and shouts surrounding her, but they didn't matter. Nothing mattered as the flesh of her back was torn and flayed. Her fingers grasped the rope until her knuckled were white. She pulled against it, as though holding herself to the mast. She refused to scream or emit so much as a sound of discomfort.

 _Crack_! _Crack_!

Another two lashes. Her eyes rolled into the back of her head; tears streamed down her cheeks and she bit her lips so hard they almost bled. _I will not scream_! _I will not give him the satisfaction_!

 _Crack_!

 _Just one more_ , she told herself. _Just one more_. _It_ ' _s almost over_. _Let it be over_.

The final lash tore through her, and Sparrow sagged against the mast, breathing heavily. The pirates around her continued to cheer. She did not care. Her back was on fire, her legs barely held her, and it took of her strength not to weep like a child. She would never forgive the Pirate for this. Never forget what he'd done to her. _Never_ …

After several moments, she heard Reaver addressing his men, and she struggled to listen to what he was saying.

"I have taken this woman as my prisoner, and none are to touch her," he bellowed over the cheering. "Let her stand as an example to any who would challenge my rule."

And with that the Pirate King retreated to his cabin. The men went back to their duties, occasionally shouting taunts and insults her way, but in accordance with Reaver's decree, none of them touched her.

Sparrow hung from the ropes in a daze. By now the sun had set, and the moon was making it's way across the sky. Time meant nothing to Sparrow. Only pain. She was drowning in it. But she had survived. Even without her powers, she was alive, and with all her heart she prayed for release, for some kind of miracle that she would escape from the Pirate's clutches.

* * *

Author's Sidethought: I hope that wasn't too much. Let me know what you think. Cause it's only going to get worse from here for a while.


	4. Reconditioned

Disclaimer: I do not own Fable, but what I would give to own sole rights to Reaver ^_^

Author's Observation: You may notice Reaver has a rather dark personality, even worse than in the original version. This is intentional. One doesn't sell there soul without consequences, I believe. And look at his history. It's not so far fetched.

Thank you very much to those who reviewed. I would like to hear feedback from more of you, though, if you can please find the time. This rewrite is quite a departure from the original version. A lot darker. A lot more graphic. I just really want to know where you guys are with this. It doesn't have to be every chapter, but a little update every here and there.

Also, for those of you who asked, yes this story is going to (roughly) follow the original plot line. I know things look bad now. And after you read this chapter, they'll look even worse. But we will eventually get to the point that we were in in the original version. More or less, anyway.

Warning: There is some very **explicit, violent, and graphic content** in this chapter. Not sexual in nature, but omfg, I cannot even believe myself when I was editing this. But some of you expressed a desire for Reaver to be darker, and I'm going with that thread. It's fitting.

* * *

Chapter Four

Reconditioned

* * *

It was past noon before Sparrow was cut down from the mainmast. She had awoken early to the sounds of the crew hustling about and a horrible crick in her neck. Her back throbbed and burned agonizingly, and the heat of the sun beating on it only made it worse. She struggled to move, even stretch her sore muscles, but her restraints held tight. Despite her best efforts, no one would cut her down without Reaver's consent. He, however, had not even left his cabin this morning, and by noon, with the sun beating down on her battered body and exhaustion setting in from such a restless night, Sparrow was hanging limply from the ropes, her legs no longer able to support her.

The sun was just beginning to lean west when Sparrow finally heard the Pirate's arrogant, jovial tones coming from the quarterdeck. Dehydrated and weak, she slowly raised her head just in time to see the Pirate strut into her line of sight, dressed in nothing but a strange, foreign-looking white robe trimmed with shimmering gold fabric; it made his skin tanned skin seem darker than it was. He smiled, his ocean blue eyes sparkling at her.

"Good morning, my lovely Sparrow!" he greeted with a cheeky smile, strolling over to stand in front of her. "I trust you slept as well as I did?"

 _It_ ' _s hardly morning anymore_ , she wanted to say, but she was too weak to respond.

His eyes took on a look of mock-concern. "My, my, is little Sparrow speechless?"

Sparrow groaned and leaned her head against the mainmast.

"You do look worse for wear," the Pirate said. "Would you like me to cut you down now? Those lashes look like they need to be treated."

Sparrow opened her mouth to speak, but it was too dry and all that came out was a raspy groan. Reaver stared at her for a moment, then made a motion to one of his men. A few seconds later, Sparrow heard the sawing sound of a knife cutting through rope, and then she fell bodily to the deck. Shaking, she pulled herself to her feet, her muscles and back screaming in protest at the movement. Finally she stood before the Pirate King, weakly clutching the tatters of her shirt to her body.

"Take yourself to my cabin," Reaver said. "I'll join you there shortly."

Sparrow did not protest. Anything to get out the heat and sunlight.

Inside Reaver's cabin, Sparrow stood before the full length mirror, looking dispassionately at the eight slashes that crisscrossed along her back. Blood had dried over them, and her skin was red and swollen. Aside from that, her only other injuries were the rope burns around her wrists. She stared for several minutes, unable to look away until she heard the cabin door open.

Reaver entered, followed by a cabin boy who carried a bucket of water and a small parcel wrapped in linen. The boy left them on a the small, spindle-legged table beside the bed and left without looking at either of them.

"Sit down," Reaver said gently.

Tentatively, Sparrow sat on the edge of the bed, and Reaver placed himself behind her.

Sparrow couldn't see what he was doing, but she heard the sound of him placing something in the bucket of water. The very sound of liquid made her dry mouth salivate, the pain of her thirst increasing ten-fold, but the Pirate did not offer her anything to drink.

"Water," she croaked.

The Pirate ignored her. Instead, he said, "This might sting," before she felt a cool wet cloth pressed against her ravaged skin. She sucked in a sharp breath, wincing in discomfort as he cleaned away the sweat and blood, but slowly relaxed as the stinging subsided. For several minutes she sat in numb silence, her exhausted mind fighting to form a coherent thought. When it finally did, only one thought came to her.

"You flogged me."

The cloth on her back stopped moving for a moment, then continued.

"I did." There was no emotion in his voice. No regret. No gloating. Just a simple fact.

Sparrow nodded. Yes, that much was obvious. But there had to be more.

"For revenge?" she asked after a few moments. "To prove yourself to your men?"

"Yes," Reaver said. "And no."

"And no," Sparrow said thoughtfully. "Then why?"

"For you, my Sparrow," he said.

He did not elaborate. Sparrow did not understand.

"For me?" she prompted, her voice dull.

"Yes," he said. "To show you my power over you. To prove that you belong to me now. Your body, your very life, are mine."

Those words jolted Sparrow out of her apathy as nothing else had. _You belong to me now_. _You are mine_. He thought he owned her. That an enchanted collar and a pattern of lash marks across her back made her his. She was a _Hero_. She'd rescued more slaves from their masters than she could count. She did not bow to those who thought they could own another human being.

Sparrow seethed, but she did not struggle as Reaver continued to clean her wounds, then spread a salve over her back to assist the healing process. Finally he covered them in large squares of cotton and wrapped a long strip of gauze around her body to hold them in place.

When he was finished he stood before her again and took her chin in his hand. He appeared to be looking her over thoroughly, and Sparrow stared up at him, hatred brewing inside her.

"My little Sparrow," he said, tracing his fingers softly over her face. "I believe I will be very pleased with you." Taking a step back, he pointed a commanding finger to the floor between them. "Kneel before me."

Standing to her feet, Sparrow looked down at the floor, then coldly up into his eyes.

"No," she said. "I am a free-woman. I bow to no-one."

Reaver's eyes narrowed dangerously. "So you intend to defy me?"

Sparrow looked away said nothing. There was no point in answering.

Forcefully, the Pirate grasped her chin and made her look back at him. She kept her expression blank, which presented no difficulty; she was numb with thirst and exhaustion and pain. But still, she was no so numb that she would kneel before this arrogant Pirate who thought he could own her like a slave.

The Pirate must have seen all of this in her eyes, for his expression darkened. Grabbing her arm, he dragged out of his cabin and above deck, where he ordered her tied to the mainmast once more, only this time her back was against the wood, and her arms were left at her sides.

"If you will not submit to my rule, then you will remain here until you are ready," he said coldly. "You will receive neither food nor water, and none of my men are permitted to speak to you or help you in any way. Now, I will leave you to think on your place in life, and whether you will embrace it, or die from thirst and exposure."

With that the Pirate walked away. He took the helm for the rest of the afternoon, steering them through calm, crystal blue seas, but in truth he saw none of it; instead he surreptitiously watched his captive as she hung from the rope tying her to the mast. Her head had fallen forward, and she hadn't moved in several hours; he could only assume she'd fallen asleep.

Inwardly, he cursed her stubbornness. He'd flogged her before his men for himself as much as for her. Not only did it soothe his ego, but it restored his credit with his crew, and reinforced his reputation as a ruthless ruler. A reputation that, thanks to his own leniency, might suffer if he could not break her soon. _Why_ _did I let her live_? _Why_ _didn_ ' _t I just kill her_? If he had, this would have been over with. But he'd thought her broken, subservient. He'd thought he could amuse himself with her before disposing of her. Now his rule was being challenged by his captive, before all of his men, and if he was unable to break her, he would have to kill her and everyone who'd witness this debacle the moment they made port. It was the only way to protect his status as king among pirates.

Looking her over, he contemplated her very being, wanting to ferret out any weaknesses. To be honest, he didn't remember much of her from their first meeting. She'd been some great Hero that he could not walk twenty yards without hearing about. People had called her the _Avenger_. He supposed it was an apt title, but there was more than that. She had been a noble champion of the little people. Maybe if they'd stayed in Bloodstone, he could have used the townspeople to break her. Here on his ship, he had no one who would fulfill such a purpose.

There had to be another way. Passing the ship's wheel to his first mate, he decided to take the time to look over his newest acquisition.

Time had not changed her, the same way it had not changed him. She looked no different then when they'd first met, and just as he had then, he thought her rather average for a female. Neither tall nor short, not slender or robust, neither ugly nor ravishingly beautiful. Still, he couldn't help noticing how perfectly proportioned she was. Her hips were just the right width against her small waist. Her breasts were just large enough to fill his hands. Her legs were slender, but sturdy looking and finely shaped. True, she was fair to look upon, but still rather plain by his standards. Even her hair, though long and thick, was an ordinary chestnut brown. In fact, the only thing he felt he could remark upon were her eyes; they were large in her face, and the flinty blue-gray of gunmetal. Eyes that could pierce through a man. No, she was no raving beauty, he decided. Still, there was an undeniable appeal about her, and he kept his eyes on her, as though she were a puzzle he must solve.

 _Who are you_ , _Sparrow_? he asked himself. _What will it take to bring you to your knees before me_?

* * *

Sparrow was floating in a sea of misery. She was so tired, so thirsty, and in so much pain, and the heat of the sun as it moved across the sky did nothing to ease her burden. She wanted sleep… she wanted water… Sometimes she thought she dozed off, but it was hard to tell. She could not find the strength to fight and rail against her situation. That would be a waste of energy anyway. She accepted it, but she did not give in. She wouldn't kneel before the Pirate. She would not bow before him and call him master. She would die first…

At dusk the Pirate approached her again, his manner nothing short of cheerful.

"And how are we feeling this evening, my lovely?" he asked. "Would you like me to cut you down? There is a bath and food and water waiting in my cabin. All you need is to kneel before me, and it shall be yours."

Sparrow remained stubbornly silent, and Reaver sighed theatrically, and ordered on her his men to let her down while another man brought him a long wooden rod about a yard in length and as thick as a man's thumb. Immediately, Sparrow knew what was coming.

"I really hoped you would be reasonable, Sparrow," he said. "I simply can't let your disobedience slide. Why, it might give my men the wrong idea, and then we'll have pure anarchy!"

The moments she was released from the ropes, she was thrown down onto the deck. She hit the wood hard and moaned in pain, but that was nothing compared the what she felt next. The cane was brought down hard on her backside, and her whole body jolted under the blow. An icy cold cold feeling shot all the way up her spine, followed by a burning hot pain, as though she'd been struck by a red-hot iron. In levels of pain, it was not unlike the sting of a lash, but at the same time it was fundamentally different – much less concentrated in one spot. She didn't scream. Again her lungs seem to seize up. She couldn't move or make a sound. Unlike the lashing, there was no pause between blows. The Pirate struck her again and again, on her buttocks, up and down her legs. He did, mercifully, spare her already ravaged back, but in the moment she hardly cared.

Blows were raining down on her body, making every muscle jolt and spasm, and with each one, her skin softened and the pain grew and grew to the point that it felt like her whole backside was on fire. It was near unbearable, but the Pirate did not stop. Sparrow screamed with each strike, but she summoned up all her self control not to move, afraid to expose an even more vulnerable part of her body if she moved the wrong way.

Then, just as soon as it had started, it was over, and two men were lifting her back onto the mast, where she was tied up once more. Her whole body was shaking uncontrollably, and when the Pirate demanded she look at him, she could not do it. Cruelly, he grabbed her by her hair and forced her head up until their eyes met.

"That was only fifteen strokes," Reaver said, tracing a tear that had rolled down her cheek. "Tomorrow, if you do not submit, you will endure twenty. Consider that while you think on your situation."

And so for another night she was tied to the mainmast. The evening chill cut through her, her thirst was unbearable, and her whole body was in agony, but she was still determined not to succumb to the Pirate's will.

The next day, having not even healed from her first beating, she took another fifteen strokes. The pain was a hundred times worse, and she screamed until her throat was raw. The day after that, she endured it again.

By then, Sparrow was almost delirious from thirst and pain. Her throat was dryer than parchment. Her body was broken and battered. She couldn't imagine that she would be able to hold on much longer. But she would die before she gave in to that cursed pirate. She was no weakling. She would never bow before him.

 _I_ ' _ll die first… I_ ' _ll die first_ …

Over and over she chanted that to herself. Sometimes in her head, sometimes out loud, though she was not sure of which anymore. He could flog her. He could cane her. He could starve her. He could deny her water and freedom of movement and beat her within an inch of her life. But she did not belong to him.

Dozing in a haze of misery, she felt like she was dreaming when she felt a rough hand lift her chin. Her eyes rolled in her head. She was too weak to see anything. Then she felt something touch her lips, followed by cool, liquid water flowing down her throat. She choked at first, coughed and sputtered, but then drank greedily. All too soon, however, it was gone.

"More," she rasped. "Please, more."

Again her head was lifted, and she was allowed to drink again.

"Slow down," a gruff voice said. "You'll be sick."

She couldn't slow down, and with a muttered curse, the water was taken from her. It wasn't enough. She cried out like a wounded animal, needing more. Immediately a strong hand clamped over her mouth, forcing her silence, then just as quickly let go. Prying her eyes open, she looked up to see a large figure looming before her, his face slashed by moonlight. It was late at night, and she could barely see then man who had gifted her with water.

She stared at him for several moments, then asked "Who – who are you?" in a raspy voice.

The figure's lips twisted into a wry smile, and he gently pushed her hair out of her eyes.

She blinked, trying to clear her vision. "Do I – do I know you?"

He gave her a look of mock pain. "You wound me, lady," he said, placing his hand over his heart. "Do you truly not remember me?" She continued to stare at him, completely nonplussed. "The man whom you swore to love, honor, and obey?" he prompted.

A jolt went through her. "Alex?" she croaked weakly, peering up into his features with disbelief. She took in the strong jaw, the silver eyes, and the face roughened by what looked like a lifetime at sea. "Alex Kinkaid?"

"Aye, the very same," he said in his low voice.

"Alex." She stared him numbly. Her husband. What was he doing here? Was she dreaming?

"I – I thought you were dead," she said, almost too stunned to believe her eyes. "Am I dreaming?"

"No," he said. "I am very much alive, and you are very much awake."

Sparrow said nothing, still too stunned to speak. It had been so long ago. Her marriage. It felt like a lifetime had come and gone, but through all these years, all this time, this was a face that she had never forgotten. It was a part of her past that she had never lost, never tried to forget.

"I don't – how did you – when – are you even real?"

"Yes, I'm really here," he said quietly.

"But – what are you doing here? On Reaver's ship?" she asked, fighting to make her exhausted brain think. "How is it that you can possibly be here?"

"As direct as ever," he said. "Suffice it to say I am one of his crewman."

"You – you're a pirate?"

"I am," he said.

"How is that even – why would you – I don't understand."

"It's been twenty year, Sparrow," he said, his voice oddly gentle. "Did you think I was going to stay in Oakfield, waiting for you, forever?"

"No," Sparrow said. "No, I didn't." She paused, then said, "I knew you were gone. After I came out of the Spire, I did look. But I never imagine – I mean, a pirate? On Reaver's ship?"

He laughed darkly. "Yes."

Sparrow let her head fall, too exhausted to hold it up. "I don't understand," she finally said. "I'm too tired to understand."

"Aye," he said, his voice oddly soft. "You've endured much. I've been watching you, every day. I almost can't believe you're still alive."

"And you just stood there, cheering along with all the others?" she asked brokenly.

Alex did not answer her.

"Never mind," she said. "Helping me would only get you killed. I know that. And you have no reason to take that kind of risk for me."

Again she was met with silence. She looked back up at him, and his expression was conflicted. Finally, he said, "I gave you water."

"Yes, you did." She paused, then said, "Alex, I don't know if you hate me. I wouldn't blame you if you do. But if you don't, you're the only person on this ship who doesn't. You're my only hope for escaping Reaver."

He clicked his tongue. "The Hero of Bowerstone needs _my_ help?" he asked incredulously.

His words stung, but Sparrow tried not to let him see it. "I can't fight him like this," she said. "This collar he put on me, it's Spire technology. I can't use my powers. I'm no stronger than any mortal woman."

He scowled at her. "I'm no Hero, Sparrow. I've only managed not to get shot all these years by staying out of Reaver's way and not crossing him. He'll kill me if I help you escape."

"I can give you refuge in Bloodstone, or even aboard one of my ships. You don't have to keep living this life. You can either join me in Bloodstone, or go your own way."

Alex paused to think, but his eyes gave nothing away. "I can't make any promises. I'm not the boy you once knew, Sparrow."

Sparrow nodded her head. "I understand. I won't hold it against you if you choose to stay out of this."

Alex gave a noncommittal shrug. "I best get back up to the nest. I can't say if we will speak again. Goodbye, Sparrow."

Sparrow watched him turn and walk away.

"Goodbye," she whispered.

* * *

As the sun rose the next day, Sparrow was surprised to see that they were making port. It looked like a small island, but she knew they couldn't be too far from Albion; they'd been at sea for less than a week. She had no hope that she would be able to escape though. She was still tied to the mainmast, and this did not seem like the kind of place where she was likely to find help. Even from here she could hear gunshots and rowdy fighting. Clearly this was an island of pirates.

They stayed for several days while the crew brought fresh supplies aboard and took shore leave, and every evening, after demanding that she submit to him, and her subsequent refusal, the Pirate administered his punishment, giving her fifteen strokes with the cane. Her terrible screams carried far and wide, and after the first night of this, it had become something of a show for the occupants of the island. They gathered on the docks, cheering Reaver on as her caned her, and laughing drunkenly with each strike.

During the day, Sparrow was tied to the mainmast. She ignored the crew as they bustled about, and tried not to feel the horrible throbbing in her body. She was beyond exhaustion, and both hunger and thirst gnawed at her insides like a wild beast. The only thing she even remotely paid attention to was Alex, who had not come to her for the past few nights, neither to speak nor to offer her more water. Still, she found herself aware of his every move now that she recognized him. He worked all kinds of jobs aboard the ship with a knowledge of it that impressed her, his hands sure and steady in everything he did. For the most part, he completely ignored her, although sometimes she could have sworn she saw him watching her from the corner of her eye. Whenever this happened, she felt a catch in her heart, a reminder of something she'd thought long since dead, and it both confused and frightened her. As grateful as she was to have a familiar face, besides Reaver, aboard this ship, why did it have to be Alex?

The sound of Reaver's boisterous shouts startled her from her thoughts. He was coming up the gangplank, looked overjoyed about something. Sparrow cringed when he started walking in her direction. She had refused to submit to him every day that he had come to her, and though he tried not to show it, she could tell his patience was wearing thin. This time, however, he made no offers or threats. He just stood watching her contemplatively, stroking his jaw with his long, elegant fingers. She found it unnerving, but she kept her expression completely impassive.

After several minutes, Reaver made a swift gesture to one of his crew, and a moment later she felt the ropes around her give. At first, she stumbled, her legs weak from fatigue and deprivation, but the Pirate did not give her time to catch her footing. Instead he ordered his crewman to escort her to his cabin, and Sparrow was forced to endure the man's putrid odor as he took a firm hold of her around the waist and half-dragged her below decks.

There she was left alone, and the door was locked against her. A few minutes later, Reaver joined her, carrying a plate of food and a flagon of water. Immediately Sparrow's stomach snarled and her throat started burning with thirst, but she did her best to hide it.

"Ah, Sparrow! Please sit down, make yourself comfortable," he said warmly, as though she were his honored guest and not his prisoner.

Tentatively, she took a seat in one of the comfortable leather chairs that were scattered around the map table. The Pirate perched himself across from her and set his food down in front of him, then began to eat; there was roast turkey and potatoes, and the smell was sheer torment. He ate his feet with plenty of show and fuss, all the while watching at her with a thoughtful expression, as though he was pondering a complicated riddle. Sparrow said nothing, looking determinedly in any direction but at his plate.

After a long moment he said, "You look ready to collapse."

Sparrow sat up straighter in her chair. Reaver smirked.

"I can't imagine how thirsty you must be," he said with relish. "Or how hungry."

The pain in her throat and stomach tripled, and her head began to spin. She dug her fingernails into her palms, trying to hold it together.

"You are very strong, little Sparrow," he said, almost with a hint of admiration. "Most people would have given up by now."

"I am not most people," she bit out.

He seemed pleased with her response. "No, you're not. In fact, I daresay you are immune to most forms of psychological pressure that would bring any man, much less a woman, to heel."

Sparrow gave him an indifferent shrug. "Then either let me go, or kill me."

"I'm afraid we've moved past that juncture," the Pirate said with a small hint of regret.

Sparrow looked startled. "Why?"

"Because my entire crew has witnessed your defiance," the Pirate explained pleasantly. "Image matters in this business, little Sparrow. I can't have word going around that one prisoner refused to break under the Pirate King's heel. I'd be a laughingstock. If I kill you, then I must kill everyone aboard this vessel."

A chill went through Sparrow. If he killed the entire crew, then Alex would die along with them. The very thought made her heart race, but she held her composure, unwilling to give the Pirate such a weapon against her. "So why don't you?" she asked. "It's not like killing bothers you."

"Quite right," he agreed readily. "And if it comes to that, well, then –" he gave a small chuckle "– I've got a whole island of replacements just outside that door. Of course," he went on, "I don't think we're at that juncture just yet."

Sparrow stiffened. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that I do not think we've begun to scratch the surface of the enigma that is Sparrow," he said pleasantly. "True, you have resisted starvation, thirst, exhaustion, and pain. Your mind it too strong to give in to weaknesses of the flesh. And so it's occurred to me that that is what I must break."

"My mind?"

Reaver gave her a smile. "Yes, your mind."

Sparrow almost laughed. _Good luck with that_.

Reaver gave her a wicked smile, as though he had her thought. "Let's step back a moment, shall we?" he said, tilting casually back in his chair. "I have a question for you. What makes one person the property of another?"

Immediately, Sparrow responded, "Nothing. People aren't property."

Reaver chuckled. "Oh come now, let's put all that idealistic rhetoric aside and talk about reality. Slavery is a reality. People are enslaved every day. It's not even illegal. There are slaves and serfs up and down Albion, and Samarkand too. You've freed dozens of them, I am to understand."

"Yes," Sparrow said hesitantly.

"So lets say, hypothetically, some man was captured by slavers, his family hired you to rescue him, and you tracked him down all the way to the slaver's camp. What would mark that man as slave? How do you differentiate him from the people who captured him?"

Sparrow did not like this line of conversation, but she answered truthfully. "He would be in a cage," she said. "If he had just been recently captured and not yet sold, he would be held in a cage, either awaiting a buyer or transport."

"A cage," Reaver said with a nod. "And what is the purpose of the cage?"

Sparrow frowned. Reaver knew damn well what the purpose of a cage was, but for some reason he seemed to take pleasure in her explaining it. "It keeps the person from escaping."

"So the slave does not have freedom of movement," the Pirate said. "They could not just up and leave of their own free will, much like your present situation. Do I understand correctly?"

Sparrow frowned again, but nodded. "Yes."

"Delightful," the Pirate said. "Now, let us assume you were unable to rescue this hapless fellow before he was sold and transported. How would you find him then?"

"I would follow the trail to the buyer," she said.

"Are all slaves bought?"

"Not exactly," Sparrow said. "Some of the larger organizations employ their own slavers to take people. Cuts out the middle man."

"I see. So what happens then?"

"What is the point of these questions," she asked uneasily.

"Oh, humor me, Sparrow," the Pirate said with a grin. "They're just questions. Please, continue."

Sparrow sighed. "Next the man would go through a period of… of reconditioning."

"Oh, that sounds interesting," the Pirate said with enthusiasm. "Please, explain that to me."

"First, the man would be forced to endure… deprivation," Sparrow said quietly. "He would be starved, his movement would be restricted." She watched as the Pirate nodded thoughtfully. "He would be beaten, extensively. He might even be given a different name, as a way to strip him of his old identity. After all of this, his value would be assessed, and he would be assigned a role amongst the other slaves, depending on his obedience and inherent skills."

"I see," the Pirate said. "Well, it seems you now understand much of what this man would have been through. You've endured all that wonderfully." Sparrow glared at him, but said nothing. "Tell me, how would you know who was the slave, and who was the master?"

Sparrow gave him a confused look. "The slave would be the one doing all the work."

"No, no," the Pirate said. "Besides that. Say you tracked this man down and even after he'd gone through all of that, you managed to rescue him and return him to his family. Slaves are sometimes recaptured and returned to their master, is that correct?"

"Yes," Sparrow said stiffly.

"How is that?" he asked with a smile. "How would slavers know he was an escaped slave? How would they know who he had belonged to?"

The air between them seemed to go deathly still, and several moments passed before Sparrow answered. "He would be branded."

"Branded," Reaver said, his head nodding in approval. "The brand marks them as a slave. Even if they escape. Even if they are set free. A brand marks them forever as the property of another person." He looked deep into her eyes, holding her gaze so she could not break away. "Am I understanding this correctly?"

Sparrow had gone completely still. "Yes," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. The Pirate gave her a wide, meaningful smile, and Sparrow jumped to her feet as though she had been electrocuted. "No!"

"Yes, Sparrow," he said, also rising to his feet.

"You can't!" she yelled. "I am a free-woman!"

"You _were_ a free-woman, Sparrow," the Pirate said, sounding as though he were savoring the words. "But no longer. You belong to the king of pirates. To me. And I will break you, Sparrow. When I do, all will know who is the stronger between the two of us."

Overcome with desperation, Sparrow did not think as she ran to the door, but it was still locked. She couldn't escape. Behind her, she heard the Pirate laughing, and she felt rage boiling inside her, mixed with fear. Abandoning the door, she launched herself at him, screaming and kicking and swinging her fists. It didn't matter. He easily blocked her attack, and overcome by hunger and exhaustion, she soon collapsed against him.

"Now, now, Sparrow, there's no need for all these theatrics," he said, lifting her in his arms and laying her on the table. "Just lie still and it will be over soon."

He left her alone then, and seconds later brought back six of his crew. She struggled as best she could as they bound her with rope, but there was nothing for it. Her hands were tied before her, and her ankles tied together.

She noted Alex was among the men tying her, but she knew better than to expect help from him. He would not succeed, and it would only get him killed. Once she was secure, a cloth sack was placed over her head, and she felt herself bodily lifted from the table and placed securely over the shoulder of one of Reaver's crew.

From there she couldn't say what was happening. She was being carried, she knew that much, and she had the distinct impression that they were leaving the ship, but there was little else. She heard the babble of hundreds of voices, most of them loud and rancorous. She had no hope at all that anyone would stop the man carrying her, much less help her; this island was occupied by the worst dregs of humanity, and they lined up to watch her be beaten every night. No, there would be no held coming.

Despite this, she couldn't help struggling against the man carrying her, unable to accept what was about to happen, even if there was no hope of escape. She was so weak, however, that the pirate carrying her wasn't even phased.

After perhaps fifteen minutes, she felt the air around her abruptly shift. Where before it had been cool with the sea breeze, now it was hot and dry.

"Tarl, my good man," she heard Reaver greet somebody.

There were a few heavy footsteps, followed by the words, "Is this her?"

"Yes, indeed," the Pirate said. "I trust you've everything in readiness?"

The man grunted in response.

"Kinkaid, put her on the table there."

Her heart lurched at the name. Alex was the one carrying her. She felt her body weight shifted, and she was placed on a hard surface. It felt like a table, but it was narrow, barely wider than her body. She felt that if she moved at all in one direction or the other, she would fall right off. The table itself felt slightly arched, so that her hips were higher than either her head or her feet as she was bowed backward.

"Where do you want it?" the man called Tarl asked.

"On the leg, I'm thinking," Reaver said.

There was no more discussion after that. Sparrow felt her hands, tied together before her, pulled up and over her head, then fastened securely, though to what, she wasn't sure. Her body was stretched out, and she felt herself being tightly roped to the table. She squirmed feebly.

"No," she whimpered. "Stop! You can't do this to me!"

No one listened. The rope was placed around her neck and belly, and on each of her legs, above the knees and at the ankles. Then she felt the blade of a knife. It was cutting away her left pant-leg, which was forcefully pulled down her leg, exposing her left thigh.

"Stop," she begged, her body beginning to shake. "Please, Reaver, stop this!"

She could barely move. Finally the hood was moved from her head, and the first thing she was was Reaver standing over her, watching her with an oddly tender smile. She looked away to her left, and saw a stout, sturdy man dressed in peasant clothing and wearing a leather apron; obviously a blacksmith. He was standing beside a brazier and, with hands encased in leather gloves, he withdrew a white-hot iron. She could feel the heat of it even feet away.

"No!" she screamed. "No!"

A large, blonde man, Reaver's first mate, held her thigh immobile. He was like a giant; he reminded her of Hammer, and his strength was beyond hers even on her best day. She couldn't see Alex in her line of vision, but she knew he was still there.

She looked back into Reaver's eyes. "Please don't," she said. "Kill me if you must, but don't do this."

"Shhhh," Reaver soothed as though she were a child having a nightmare. He stroked her hair as he looked gently into her eyes. "Don't be afraid. Embrace the pain, Sparrow. Embrace _me_."

It began swiftly, almost before she could feel it. She felt the iron touch her, and almost instantly burn through her outer layer of skin and then, to her horror, enter her and firmly ledge itself into the side of her thigh. The pain then began to register in her consciousness. Despite her resolve not to utter a sound, her head fell back on the table as she screamed and screamed. She was aware of nothing happening around her. She could not see, could not hear. Alex, Reaver, the blacksmith, they didn't exist anymore. She was alone with this, the pain, the agony, the degradation. She could not believe what was being done to her, or how much it hurt.

Not only could she feel the burning iron, she could hear it too, hissing and searing. There was an odor of burning flesh. Hers. Then, incredibly, she felt the iron pressed even more deeply. She could not move her thigh in the least. She threw her head from side to side, screaming until her throat was raw, and still continuing, but that did not make it better. The iron continued to burn her, taking its time, not hurrying, she was marked, cleanly and deeply. There was no end to the pain. She could not resist it, could not stop it, had no way to end it. She wanted to pass out. She wanted to die. She wanted to never have been born.

Then, just as swiftly, it was withdrawn.

In truth, the marking took only a few seconds, but forever after, Sparrow would find that truth difficult to accept. It seemed as though an hour had passed during the time she felt the iron. Her thigh was released. She began to choke and sob. She could hear Reaver and the blacksmith regarding the mark. She couldn't focus enough to understand their words, but they sounded pleased.

Sparrow did not care. She was overwhelmed with what had happened to her. The pain had lessened. It still hurt beyond anything she'd ever experienced, but that pain seemed unimportant compared to the enormity of her new reality. She had been branded. Even when the pain eventually vanished, that mark never would. She would bear it the rest of her life. From now on, it would label her as something she had never been before.

Only animals wore brands. Animals and slaves, who were barely considered better than animals. Even if she managed to escape, she would still be considered property. Like the many people she had helped to escape from slavers, she would spend the rest of her life looking over her shoulder, fearing recapture. No law protected her, not even in Albion.

She could feel some kind of ointment being spread over the burn. She could only assume it was to help it heal and prevent infection. Then she was left alone. She sobbed for a long time, until she ran out of tears, then vomited over the side of the table, and finally went quiet, too numb to feel any more misery. Eventually she felt herself being untied from the table, and lifted up into a pirate's arms. It was not Alex who carried her this time, but the blond giant. He did not hoist her over his shoulder, but carried her in his arms, her left thigh out and away from his body. Sparrow closed her eyes and let him carry her. She did not struggle. For the first time since the Pirate had taken her, she could not find the strength to fight back.

* * *

Sparrow felt that some time had passed by the time she was aware of herself again. She hadn't slept, exactly, but stayed floating in a daze where she was aware of nothing and no one. It had been a kind of mercy, truly, but she felt reality pulling at her once more. She resisted it, knowing that facing it would mean confronting something so horrible it didn't bear thinking about. But the throbbing in her thigh would not be ignored. Slowly, she opened her eyes and sat up. Through the porthole, she saw that it was dark out. The entire day had gone.

To her surprise, she was naked. She was surprised she had not felt herself being disrobed, and assumed the Pirate must have done it, both to degrade her and so that the mark on her thigh would be readily visible. Taking a deep breath, she looked down at it.

There, burnt into the outside of her thigh, was an intricate cursive letter 'R'. She expected the flesh around it to be red and angry looking, but to her surprise the burn was almost completely healed. She supposed they must have used a Healing balm on it, but still, she hated the sight of it on her body. She wanted to scratch it out with her own fingers. However, when she tentatively touched it, the pain made her draw her hand sharply back. Even healed as it was, it still hurt to touch.

 _I am a slave_ , she thought. The realization sent a torrent of misery through her heart.

She was distracted from her thoughts by the sound of the door opening. Reaver appeared through it.

She did not say anything when he entered. Did not scream, cry, or curse at him. A part of her wanted to. She hated him more than she'd ever hated anyone in her life right now. If she could, she would destroy him. But she couldn't. He had her completely in his power. If she were lucky, he would kill her, but she knew he wouldn't. Not now. He would relish his victory over her, and if she resisted… well, even branding wasn't the worst thing he could do to her. She'd rescued enough slaves to know that first-hand.

Reaver did not gloat, like she expected. He did not offer her any form of greeting. All he said was, "Come with me," and left the room without looking back, as though he expected her follow. She did.

In the next room, the map table had been cleared off, and an elegant meal had been laid out. Sparrow, who had not eaten in several days, felt her stomach snarl like a vicious predator at the sight of it. There were several turkey legs, a plate of roasted potatoes, several different kinds of fruit, warm bread drizzled with honey, and, most impressively, an entire roasted boar.

There was only one setting placed at the table, and Reaver seated himself before it as though the leather chair beneath him was a throne. Then he looked back at her.

"Kneel at my feet," he stated simply. Sparrow frowned, but he pinned her with dark eyes, the shadows swirling with the blue, and she knew there would be no use in resisting.

Slowly, she crossed the room, and after only a brief hesitation, knelt at his feet. He did not make a sound, and when she dared to look up into his eyes, she saw his pride in himself. She felt a burst of hatred, and couldn't resist asking him, in her most belligerent tone, "Do you expect me to eat from the floor like some kind of animal?"

In a flash, he had roughly taken a hold of her chin, squeezing it tightly until her eyes watered. "You will eat where you are ordered," he said smoothly. "You will kneel here and you will not make a sound, and if you are obedient, I will feed you when I see fit. Do you understand?" He stared into her eyes without blinking, and she nodded her head. But he was not pleased. "When I speak to you, you are to reply with 'Yes, sir'."

Sparrow nervously bit her lip, then said, "Yes, sir."

He abruptly released her and started to eat, both of them ignoring the growling in her stomach. Several bites later, he finally lifted the fork to her mouth and fed her a piece of meat. Sparrow tried not to enjoy the food he gave her, thinking of it only as sustenance, but she was so hungry that she couldn't resist the moan of satisfaction.

"Now there's a good girl," he murmured. "See how much simpler things are when you follow orders? That is why you are below me now, Sparrow. I never take prisoners and I shoot hostages. And I haven't had a slave aboard my ship in a long time. I cannot have you disobeying and challenging my every command. You will learn or I promise, a beating will be the least severe of your punishments."

She nodded again, but then caught herself. "Yes, sir."

Reaver looked satisfied, and as a reward he gave her a goblet of water. She drank from it greedily, quenching her thirst as though this was the last glass of water in the world. She heard him chuckle, and when he'd taken back the goblet, she continued to kneel, outwardly silent and obedient, but inside, she rebelled. On some level, it amazed her that she, the Hero of Bowerstone, the Mayor of Bloodstone, had been brought so low. It was one thing to come down in the world, but this – kneeling, naked, at the feet of the Pirate King, with his brand on her body while he fed her from his plate like a favored pet – who had ever heard of such a descent in life? Why was this happening to her? She'd always been a force of good in the world. What great evil had she done in her life to deserve _this_?

As Reaver finished eating a knock came from the door, and he nodded for her to answer it. She stood and opened the door, admitting several sailors. Two of them carried a large bronze bathtub into the inner cabin, and others followed with large buckets full of steaming water. They filed in silently, leering at her nakedness as they went back and forth to the inner cabin. The last to come through was Alex, who merely glanced at her and followed the others. When they were gone, Reaver went into the inner cabin, gesturing for her to follow. She did, dragging her feet with dread. Nothing could delay it though, and soon the door was closed behind her.

The bronze tub stood in the center of the room, filled with hot water, steam rising from the surface, and she nearly fainted at the sight of it. It had been so long since she'd had a bath. Then she noticed worriedly that it was easily large enough for two people. Maybe more. She was brought to a pause by the sound of the door closing behind her.

She looked at Reaver, silently praying against all hope that he would leave, but instead he said, "In you get." Sparrow frowned, and to emphasis his order, he removed his robe and let it drop to the floor, standing before her in all his glory. Her whole face immediately flushed and she looked down at the floor.

"You can bathe first. I'll wait."

She heard Reaver sigh, and a second later she went reeling as his hand made sharp contact with her cheek. She managed to catch herself before she fell, and held the throbbing side of her face as she looked up into his dark gaze. She understood at once that this was no lashing out, but a coolly administered punishment. "I won't tell you again," he said pleasantly.

Trembling, brimming with hatred, she said, "Yes, sir."

Gingerly, she climbed over the side of the tub and sank into the water, and Pirate followed immediately after.

"Really, Sparrow, slave or not, you should try to enjoy this," he said, sighing with pleasure. "We only have so much fresh water until we reach land again. Savor it while it lasts."

Sparrow's response was to back as far away as she could, pulling up her legs to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. Reaver grinned and shook his head. "How are you going to bathe me curled up like that?" he asked with a patronizing chuckle. Sparrow glared at him, but did not speak her thoughts.

The Pirate took a wash rag and scented soap from the shelf beside the tub and held it between them, waiting patiently. Sparrow hesitated for a moment, then reached across the water and took them from his hands. She lathered the cloth, inhaling the aroma of scented soap.

When it was ready, she swiped the lathered cloth across his chest. He grabbed her wrist, holding it gently. "Slowly," he instructed, then released her. She did as he said, feeling somewhat better as the soap made the water murky, concealing her... and him. She tried to detach herself from the task, moving her hands mechanically until she had washed the front of him, then the back.

Reaver said made no further demands, merely closing his eyes and relaxing, enjoying her touch. Her hands were steady but soft. He nearly moaned as she passed over the junction of his thighs, and he grabbed her wrist again, not allowing her to miss an inch of him. She thought her face was going to burst into flames as she washed him, trying to touch him with only the cloth. She gasped when she felt him start to harden in her hand, immediately jerking away.

Reaver chuckled and pulled her close, crushing her wet hair in his fist as he fused his lips to hers. Startled, she tried to push away, not even considering the consequences of her actions. The Pirate did not seem to notice. He held her to his chest, her body aligned perfectly with his. He kissed her deeply, not allowing her a breath of her own until he abruptly released her, flipping her around so her back was against his chest and her thighs were trapped by his.

"Now, I will bathe you," he breathed in her ear, lathering the cloth despite her garbled protests. He started with her back, and she immediately fell into a silent ecstasy as he scrubbed away the sweat and tension she had been accumulating on her skin since Wraithmarsh. The heat of the water seeped into her and she rested her chin on her knees and closed her eyes. Reaver's hands worked slowly as he admired the glistening pale skin before him. It was marred only by the slashing marks left by the whip, but he thought that added to rather than detracted from her beauty, because he had been the one to put them there.

As his hands snaked under her arms, he dropped the cloth and pulled her flush against him, watching as his soapy hands cupped her soft, full breasts. Out of the corner of his eyes he saw her watching his hands too, her rosy lips parted as though to protest even as her breath caught in her throat. Gently, he toyed with her pink nipples, pinching and pulling them, twisting them between his thumbs and fingers. Sparrow yelped, trying to squirm away from him but unable to find the strength to break free of his hold.

"Reaver..." she pleaded, watching his hands do sinful things to her that made her legs tremble and her heat spread along her limbs. "Reaver, please... j-just stop."

He ignored her, pressing his hot mouth to her shoulder, trailing his tongue up her neck to the shell of her ear. "Do not fight me, Sparrow," he breathed as he nibbled at her with his sharp, perfect teeth. "You are mine now. I will take what I want from you, when I want it." He wrapped his legs around hers, pulling her thighs apart as he dipped one hand under the water to gently pet her wet folds. They both moaned as her buttocks squeezed together, where his hard member nestled snugly between them. Sparrow renewed her efforts to escape, but one arm wrapped tightly around her while he tormented her, stroking her folds and slipping inside them to play with her swollen nub. He closed his eyes in rapture each time her buttocks squeezed him, bringing both of them closer to the brink. Taking firm hold of his own needs, he focused on tormenting her, teasing her nub until she was trembling and writhing in his arms, her lips pleading and moaning his name.

Then, just as her cried were becoming feverish, he stopped. It took Sparrow a moment to understand what had happened, and then she felt a great, wretched feeling course through her. She could feel her face burning with anger and humiliation, but the Pirate didn't even give her time to to come to terms with what he had just done to her. He ordered her to finish bathing, and she quickly scrubbed the rest of her body, doing her best not to look at him. While she finished, he climbed from of the tub, and the moment she finished rinsing the soap from her hair, he dragged her out.

She fell against him, and before she could right herself his lips crushed hers as his kissed her with an intensity bordering on violence. All thoughts flew from her mind and to her shock and disgust, she kissed him back, moaning into his mouth until he abruptly shoved her away.

"Dry me," he said sharply, and shaking from head to toe, she grabbed the drying cloth and did as she was ordered. After that, at his command, she dried herself, and the Pirate lay back on the bed, watching her as she did. When she was finished, she stood there, awkward and naked, but he gave her no further orders, and she found herself too afraid to speak. After several long minutes he said, "Tonight, and every night until I decide otherwise, you will sleep on the floor, at the footing of my bed."

"Y-yes, sir."

"Good. I am tired now. Go to sleep."

She laid down on the floor as he instructed. It was not overly uncomfortable; the carpet was thick and soft and warm, and it wasn't long before sleep began to pull at her. She gave in easily, eager to escape her turbulent emotions and completely overwhelmed by all that had happened to her. On some level, she found herself wondering why he didn't simply ravish her, but she was grateful that he didn't. She couldn't even think of fighting him right now. She just didn't have the strength or the will. The day would come when she would escape, she was determined on that. One day she would find herself again, but for now, all she could do was give in to the Pirate King.


	5. Submission

Disclaimer: Obviously I do not own Fable... -_- se la vi.

Author's Memo: Okay, I know Reaver may seem a bit like a psychopathic asshole right now (which of course he is anyways, with or without my help ^_^), and that last chapter definitely wasn't a favorite for some of you, but don't worry, Reaver will eventually get out of this phase like he did in the original version.

Thank you so much for you reviews. And I actually got some constructive criticism, which doesn't happen every day. I'm very grateful for that. All of this is just one long journey to improve my skills as a writer. I've got to admit, writing a pompous character is not my strong suit, but if anyone would like to PM me with instructions or suggestions or coaching, I'd be more than grateful.

It was a relief to be told that this story feels clearer and more down-to-earth. During the original version, I was high as a kite most of the time I was writing it, and furthermore, I have bipolar disorder and I was untreated at the time. That made it hard to keep my own life clear and down-to-earth, much less a story about a psychopath. But it gives me some joy to know that being medicated is not detracting from my writing, but making it better. Honestly, I think it just helps a lot that I can think clearly. True, I'm holding back a lot less on the darker, grittier stuff, but from the tone of your reviews, what I'm putting out there is better written. Thank you for that.

And now, onward with chapter five.

Warning: Some **violent** and even **sexual content** ahead. You are forewarned.

* * *

Chapter Five

Submission

* * *

High above the quarterdeck a sole man stared expressionless at the fullness of the moon. Its was his night to be up here. It was not a duty he disliked; the solitude gave him time to think, and the cool night breeze usually cleared his mind and was a welcome relief after a day's work. Tonight, however, there was no calm relief for him.

Alex was an experienced man. He had engaged in sea battles. He had killed. He had born witness to all forms of carnage. But nothing in his life had prepared him for the sheer brutality he'd beheld today. The horrifying, agonized screams that had been torn from Sparrow's very soul as Reaver's mark had been branded on her body still reverberation inside his mind, and he felt certain he would never forget it as long as he lived. No matter what he felt toward his estranged wife, her screams had tugged at his heart, and maybe even his soul. He would have traded fifty lashes to have been spared that.

Through the past several days, he had avoided seeking Sparrow out during the nights, and not without some difficulty. As much as he told himself he shouldn't, he _wanted_ to hear her voice, to watch her eyes, to rescue her from her plight and become _her_ hero. Ever since she had asked him for his help, the scenario had been building inside his mind. She would realize she needed him, she would regret all that they had missed out on, she would fall into his arms and beg him to forgive her, to let her be his wife again... they would be bound body and soul, as he'd always believed they should be... But when it had mattered most, he had been a coward. He told himself he couldn't have helped her. If he'd gone against Reaver, he would have died a quick death, and that wouldn't have helped either of them. But maybe… just maybe…

Giving himself a shake, he firmly reminded himself he was too old for such fanciful notions. She was the property of the Pirate King now, and as for Sparrow, she had made her true feelings for him clear a lifetime ago. The simple act of rescuing her and risking the wrath of the Pirate was not going to change anything. Except he might get a bullet between his eyes.

 _Foolishness_. That's exactly what he was. A foolish old man, still desperately in love with his wife. All these years he'd dreamed of finding her again. What did he think was going to happen? She would run into his arms and beg his forgiveness? Now, too late, he realized he should have stayed as far away as possible. Should have avoided her like a plague. But here he was, miles out to sea, stranded with her, drowning in memories.

Foolishness.

* * *

The Pirate watched the sleeping form of his little Sparrow. She slept at the foot of his bed, her breathing even and slow as her body was illuminated by the soft moonlight. Despite how tired her was, he found himself content to lay there watching the gentle rise and fall of her breasts, occasionally allowing his eyes to drift up to her face. She looked peaceful in sleep, her swollen lips slightly curved into a smile. _Why is she smiling_? He imagined that she was dreaming of him. Anything else would have been unacceptable.

Shifting his bed, he reached down to touch her, as was his right. His finger made a light trail down over her chin and throat, her shoulder, between her breasts, over her belly, down her thigh... There he came to his brand, irrefutable proof that she belonged to him. _The Hero of Bowerstone…_ _now his personal slave_. A wide smile curved his lips. Even if she was unimpressive as females go, she was still a remarkable acquisition. Famous, powerful, influential. And he had subjugated her to his will, suppressed her powers, forced his mark on her. She was his, and that would only add to his legend.

Letting his eyes wander over her body, he saw that her skin showed evidence of rough treatment – bruises, mostly. The sight made him smile; those marks had been given to her by him. They were a part of her journey to this moment. Still, he could afford to be more careful with her, now that she had accepted his rule.

Carefully, he lifted her wrist to his lips, stopping to admire the burns from the rope, created when she had struggled against the branding. He relived the memory again and again, relishing the her screams, the look on her face, the way she'd writhed in agony as she had taken his mark. He had had other women marked before, and cast them aside in due course, but he knew that long after he was finished with Sparrow, he would never forget that moment when he'd stripped her freedom from her. He would savor it for many years to come.

He could feel the darkness awakening inside him, responding to the reliving of that moment. It painted a picture in his mind; he would shackle her to his bed and use her body until he was sated, ravish her over and over. He would treat her as nothing more than an object, strip her of her humanity. When he was done with her, he would give her to his men, and when her screams grew boring, he would sell her. A dark smile twisted his lips as her let his imagination carry on, touching her wild mane of hair with his fingers as he considered the possibilities. With each imagining, felt his body tighten in anticipation, but still he did not act on them.

 _No_ , he thought to himself. It would be wasteful use her up quickly that way. Despite her unimpressive appearance, Sparrow was not an average woman. In two hundred years, he had not found one like her, and he would be lucky to find another over the next two hundred. No, he would slowly enjoy his little Sparrow, break her down until she came crawling to him on her own, begging for him to use her.

He watched her for a while longer as she slept soundly, completely unaware of the future he was laying out for her, then, content with himself, he lay back on his bed. "Soon, little Sparrow," he promise. "Very soon you will come to me."

* * *

Sparrow was alone when she awoke. At first, she was stunned, and her eyes darted around the cabin, checking and rechecking that she was indeed alone. She sat up from the floor and looked out the porthole. The sun was shining, and the salty breeze that blew into the cabin was warm and seductive. If it weren't for Reaver, she would be happy to be at sea. As it was, she wished herself on her own ship far away from that man.

 _That man_. _My master_. She thought the words with a feeling of both trepidation and loathing.

Looking around the room, she wondered where her clothes were, or what was left of them, but could find nothing suitable to wear, not even a shirt. Instead there was a peculiar outfit laid out for her. The fabric was a powder blue, and very light and airy. It floated around her as she slipped the two pieces on. The top was a short beaded vest that left her arms, stomach, and the top of her chest bare, and it was so short that the underside of her breasts were just barely visible as well. The bottom was a full length, flowing skirt. She blushed when she looked at her reflection. Both pieces were almost completely transparent. She could easily see her nipples through the filmy material, and her legs and the dark triangle of hair between her thighs were clearly visible through the skirt. Never in her life had she had worn such frivolous garments, but she couldn't see anything else to wear. The cupboards and cabinets were locked, and Reaver left nothing else lying around.

Before leaving the inner cabin she snatched one of the thin, gold cords holding the bed hangings to their posts and used it to pull her hair back, trying it at the base of her neck. Once in the outer cabin, the first thing to greet her was Reaver, digging into his breakfast. He was not wearing his usual red tunic and legging, but rather loose white trousers and a simple white robe that he left open, exposing his bare chest. She had never seen such garments, and wondered where he had acquired them.

"Good morning, lovely Sparrow," he said jovially by way of greeting.

"Good morning… sir," she said, lowering her eyes. She hated that just the sight of him filled her with dread, but she couldn't deny the way her heart started to pound and her palms started to sweat.

Reaver regarded her in serious silence, then said, "That color really does become you. Come here, I want a closer look."

Trembling slightly, she did as he commanded, coming to stand before him, her eyes cast downward toward the floor. She could not see his expression, but he let out a little hum that she thought sounded as though he was pleased. Then, without warning, he reached out slipped one hand under the sheer fabric and took her left breast firmly in his hand. Alarmed, her eyes flew up to his. As his fingers began to tease her nipple, she noticed that he was watching her face closely, almost expectantly, like he was waiting for something. Heart racing, Sparrow did nothing, not knowing what he wanted from her. When her nipple grew hard, he pulled her closer and took it in his mouth, sucking strongly as his other hand slipped up her skirt. His eyes were still fixed on hers, and only then did she understand. He was testing her. He was waiting for her to defy him. She did not, even when he began to roughly groped her between her thighs. She felt no pleasure, in fact he was being rough enough that she found his touch more than uncomfortable, but this she knew was not the point. Once again, Reaver was demonstrating his power over her. He would touch her when and how he wanted, and she would do nothing to stop him.

Just as abruptly as it had started, he released her, and ordered her to kneel, which she did. Smiling, he said, "You must be hungry."

"Yes, sir."

"Ask me to feed you."

Cheeks burning, she hesitated only a moment before doing as she was told. "May I have something to eat, sir?"

He looked pleased, and granted her a plate of food and a goblet of water from the table, setting them on the floor between them. "Never let it be said that I don't reward good behavior," he said with a wry smile. She felt as though she were missing some sort of joke.

Sparrow barely noticed what she ate. Reaver finished his meal without acknowledging her until he was finished.

"I expect you to join me above deck when you're done, to take care of anything I need. Do not keep me waiting long."

Sparrow stared after him long after he was gone, taking a moment to allow her heart to return to it's normal rhythm. She hated the bitter taste of fear that she got in her mouth she she was near him. She, who was known throughout Albion for her courage and valor. But she was at his mercy, and since he'd placed that horrible mark on her leg, she understood that there was nothing he wouldn't do to her. He was the most cut-throat pirate she had ever met… the most evil man she'd ever met. She must always be careful to watch her step if she had any hope of surviving.

* * *

Sparrow walked barefoot out on deck and into the bright sunshine. The sky was a cloudless, wistful blue and the breeze pleasantly warm. She found Reaver standing at the wheel, which surprised her. She'd always pegged him as someone who would prefer to let other people do the work for him. He didn't immediately notice her presence, so she stopped for a moment to watch him. His burnished brown hair, lighted with gold streaks from the sun and always impeccably styled, was now tossed wildly about in the wind. He had seemingly done away with his robe, leaving the golden skin of his upper body exposed to the sea and sun. Absently, she let her eyes travel over him, looking at him closely for the first time. She noticed immediately how tall he was. His shoulders and back were straight and strong, but a man of his arrogance would never stoop or slouch. Her eyes traveled down to his waist, glancing over his slim hips and strong legs. They were long, and built for strength as well as speed. As her eyes drifted back up, she supposed he would be a fine man. She knew many women would find him appealing, but with the good looks came the man himself, and that was enough to make anyone's skin crawl.

She heard a light chuckle on the breeze and her gaze darted up to meet Reaver's laughing eyes. He crookt a finger at her, beckoning her over. She came to him, keeping her eyes downcast, and for the first time, the crew noticed her presence. Her ears were assailed by shouts and mocking laughter, and more than a few catcalls, and she felt her cheeks burn with humiliation. Forcing herself to ignore them, she focused on the Pirate, giving him a quiet, "Yes, sir?"

"You've been behaving yourself very well, my dear," he said, and he did sound pleased. "Now you will demonstrate your obedience before my crew." He did not elaborate. He did not need to. Over and over, he'd commanded this of her, and over and over she'd refused him.

Sparrow looked around at the crew, feeling a sickness in the pit of her stomach. Some of the men were watching her like vicious predators, as though waiting for her to show weakness so they would attack. Every fiber of her being fought it, but Sparrow took a deep, steadying breath and, bit by bit, she forced her knees to bend. Slowly, gracefully, she knelt before the Pirate, where all his crew could see. At a stern look from the Pirate, she then lowered her face to the deck, touching the toe of his boot with the top of her head. There was a rousing cheer around the deck, but Sparrow did not falter, did not move until the Pirate bid her to do it.

At length, he allowed her to raise her head, but for more than an hour he kept her kneeling beside him, and when he finally allowed her to get up and move around it was only so the men could "get a better look at her".

And so she walked around the deck, her stomach churning as the men looked up her and down as though she were a piece of meat at the market. More than one reached out and grasped her with their rough hands, grabbing her bottom or reaching under her vest to give her a quick squeeze. None of them, she noticed, did this within Reaver's sight. She kept her eyes down to avoid confrontation, but from the corner of her eye, she watched and she compared them to her own austere, disciplined sailors. Many of them were dark skinned, some with slanted eyes. Some wore red scarves or gold earrings, or bits of shiny in their coarse, unruly hair. Most of them were shirtless, most wearing simple, cutoff trousers tied at the waist. Each man was armed with a pistol and some sort of sword. The blades were kinds she had never seen in Albion. Some were long and straight, made from thin metal sharpened on both sides. Peculiar symbols or designs of dragons and other powerful creatures were often etched into the steel. Other swords were wider and curved, simple in the blade, but with hilts decorated with elegant etchings or colorful jewels. Thoughtfully she admired these weapons, wondering if these had originated in Samarkand or another continent perhaps.

Over an hour she wandered about the ship, but without any set task she found herself growing bored quickly. It was a beautiful day at sea, of course, but one could only enjoy that simple pleasure for so long before the mind started to wander. Deciding that if nothing else she'd seen more than enough of the deck of this ship, she grasped at the fabric of her skirt and tied it in a knot high above her knees, exposing her legs and giving her the freedom to maneuver as she climbed up the shrouds into the sails. From there she poised herself on a yardarm, looking out at the horizon. There was nothing but calm, clear blue ocean and sky for as far as she could see. From what she could tell they were headed south east, most likely toward the southern coast of Samarkand. It could still be several more days, or even weeks for all she knew, before they reached land.

After several minutes she decided to return below, but as she turned about, she bumped into Alex as he was coming down from the sail above her. He looked down at her, surprised to see her there. She knew the exact moment he noticed her clothes. His eyes went wide, and his face turned a ruddy color. Oddly, she felt the urge to cover herself. It felt even more humiliating to be seen this way by Alex than by anyone else on the ship.

"Sorry," she whispered, looking down.

Alex made a grunting sound, then moved past her and knelt down to work on a sail. Anyone watching him would have thought he was completely absorbed in his task, and paying her no attention at all, but after a moment he said, "How's the leg?"

Sparrow flushed a deep red, and Alex seemed to realize immediately that he'd said the wrong thing. "Sorry. I just know it – well, it was hard on you."

"You would know," Sparrow said coldly. "You were there."

She saw his expression harden. "There was nothing I could have done," he said. "He would have killed me, and you'd still be…" he trailed off.

"A slave," she said bitterly. "I know."

"At least while I'm alive maybe – _maybe_ – I can help you."

"Help me?"

"Escape," he said. "Assuming that's still what you want."

Sparrow stiffened. "Of course that's what I want."

Alex went quiet, continuing his work, and just as casually Sparrow turned back to watching the horizon, lost in her own thoughts, until eventually Alex interrupted her once again.

"Thinking of home?"

"No, I was thinking of where we're going," she said honestly, "and what I'm going to do when we get there."

"Making your own plans," he said matter-of-factly.

It wasn't a question, and Sparrow didn't take it as such. "Do you know where we're going?" she asked.

"A desert land in the south called Sadrhi. I've been there before."

"A desert?" Sparrow asked. She'd never heard the term before.

"Vast expanses of sand for as far as the eye can see," Alex explained. "It is a rugged, dangerous place, and the heat can be almost unbearable."

Sparrow was intrigued by such an idea. "Have you seen much of Samarkand?" Sparrow asked, her curiosity piqued.

"Some," Alex replied. "Mostly coastal lands. But Samarkand is a vast continent. I don't think I could hope to explore it all in one lifetime."

Sparrow thought about that for a moment, allowing herself to imagine the wonders of such a land. She'd seen nearly every nook and cranny of Albion, and she had to admit the appeal was not lost on her. She had never even dreamed of a desert, as Alex described it. Her dealings at sea had never taken her to Samarkand and she found herself asking Alex to describe it in further detail, closing her eyes as he described sweeping dunes, great storms of sand, and rich, colorful sunsets such as she had never seen in Albion. It sounded incredible, but she couldn't imagine why Reaver was taking her there.

The moment he came back into her thoughts, her eyes sought out Reaver, and she was startled to see that he was watching her with stony eyes. Ducking her head, she whispered, "I should go. I do not wish to mark you as a target."

Alex stiffened, but gave a subtle nod to show he understood. Sparrow scurried back down to the deck and found herself worrying what Reaver may have read into her talking to one of his crew. By no means had they done anything inappropriate, but there was a chance it could have looked suspicious. While Alex had by no means promised his assistance, she did not want their familiarity to draw a target on his back. She climbed up to the quarterdeck and realized Reaver had a velvet topped lounging chair brought out on deck and placed before the mizzenmast, and was already spread out upon it.

"Did you need something?" she asked.

"I want some berries. Go down and see if Cook still has any fresh ones," the Pirate drawled. Sparrow gave the compulsory "Yes, sir" and went below, arriving in the deserted galley. Relieved to be away from all the staring done by the rest of the crew, she looked for the cook, but no one was around. Impatient, she went into the kitchen to find the berries herself. In a woven barrel she found a bunch of red grapes still reasonably preserved.

Back up on deck, offered them to the Pirate King, but instead he patted space next to him on the lounger. She gingerly perched herself by his side, holding the plate of grapes on her lap. Reaver crossed his arms behind his head, propped himself up, and held his lips open expectantly. With slender fingers she picked a grape from the bunch and placed the fruit on his tongue. A small hitch caught in her throat when he closed his lips before she could withdraw her hand. Gently, he nibbled on the tips of her fingers. She jerked her hand away and his eyes held a mischievous spark, teasing her. Squirming uncomfortably, she continued to feed him, and soon it became a game, she trying to pull her fingers away quickly as he sucked and nibbled on the tips of them each time he brought them near his lips.

After the grapes had disappeared, she rose to take the plate below, but Reaver stopped her.

"That can wait," he said in a tone she didn't entirely trust. "I require something else of you."

"What do you need?" she asked apprehensively.

"Go stand over there," he said, gesturing to the mizzenmast. Confused, she set the plate aside and did as he asked. Standing standing before the wooden beam, she turned to face him. He smiled, and then said, "Remove your garments."

Sparrow felt her blood go cold. She stood stock still for several moments, and she was aware of Reaver watching her with dispassionate eyes.

"I'm waiting, Sparrow," he said, his voice like steel.

With numb fingers, she reached up to her vest, fumbling with the ties until it fell open, exposing her breasts. She slid it down her arms and let it fall to the deck. Her ears told her that many of the crew were paying attention at this point. She kept her eyes down, pushing the skirt down over her hips; it slipped off easily and pooled around her feet. Quickly, she glanced up at the Pirate; he lay back on the lounger, watching her with half-closed eyes. After a few moments, he got to his feet and roughly pushed her back against the mast. Her heart leapt wildly inside her chest, and she tasted fear. _Surely he wouldn_ ' _t_ … _not in front of the entire crew_ … Taking her wrists, he pulled them up above her head and told her to keep them there. Then he removed the gold cord restraining her hair, allowing it to cascade over her shoulder. "I prefer your hair like this. You will leave it down for me from now on."

With a satisfied smile, he took a step back and nodded. "That's perfect." Taking her clothes, he laid back on the lounger again, his blue eyes watching her lazily.

Confused, she watched him from the corner of her eye and asked, "What am I doing standing here like this? Sir?"

"Posing," he said. "And do not question me again."

Her cheeks were burning so hot she thought her whole face would burst into flame. The Pirate seemed to delight in her humiliation and discomfort. She hated the feeling of the crew's eyes on her. Her arms started to go numb, but she didn't dare move. For over an hour, she stood there. After half-hour the Pirate's eyes began to drift shut, until finally his head lolled back and he fell asleep, but still she wasn't sure if she should move. Slowly, she lowered her arms, watching the Pirate for some sign of displeasure, but there was nothing, and she gave a relieved sigh, then realized the Pirate still had her clothes. They were bunched up under his head, and she didn't feel remotely confident that she could get them without waking him.

Covering herself as best she could with her arms, she walked over to the guardrail and leaned against it to watch the sun move lower over the horizon. How long had she been on the ship? The days almost felt like they were blended together. Was everything well in Bloodstone? She knew she could count on Mister Daniels and Sedgewick to take care of things while she was gone, but she still worried.

So caught up in her musings, she didn't hear the light footsteps that came up behind her until Alex leaned up against the rail next to her. She had not expected him to approach her again so soon, especially in the presence of all these witnesses, but she managed to keep up her passive mask, rolling one eye in his direction before looking away, giving him no other acknowledgment.

He gazed out over the water the same as she, and they stood in silence for several minutes as the sky slowly started to become streaked with shades of pink and orange. Finally, he spoke, keeping his voice low. "If you want my help, you have it."

Sparrow gave him a strange look. "Why the change of mind?" she asked.

Alex shrugged and remained silent for several minutes. Finally he said, "I've been thinking about joining a new crew for a while now. I've lasted longer here than most, but it's only a matter of time before Reaver shoots me out of boredom."

Sparrow couldn't help but agree, yet something churned inside her, telling her that wasn't the real reason. "Are you sure that's all?" she gently pressed, keeping her tone neutral. The look Alex gave her told her she wasn't as successful as she would have liked.

"Yes, that's all," he said, sounding impatient. She was slightly stunned by his sharp tone, when barely an hour ago they'd been talking in an almost friendly manner. "I'm offering you my help, something _you_ asked for," he pressed. "Or is it you no longer need me? Have you developed a misplaced soft spot for the Pirate King?"

Sparrow felt as though he'd slapped her. "Don't be stupid," she hissed furiously. "That man is as vile as he is vicious."

Alex looked at her until finally she turned to him. She stared up into the intensity of his silver eyes, noting that he looked satisfied with her answer. "I know Sadrhi. I'll find a way for you to escape. I won't approach you again until it is time."

Wordlessly, he walked away, and she watched him for a moment as he ascended the main mast, puzzling over what had just happened.

* * *

 _Back at Bloodstone Manor_...

Commander Daniels was in a fury as he wore a path along the richly grained wood that was the floor of Sparrow's study. Sedgewick, the stalwart, gallant, even-tempered Sheriff, looked on at his friend, and oft-times pupil; while he was equally as riled, he was much better at controlling his emotions. The sailor was cursing vilely, somehow managing to look quite intimidating despite the heavy bandaging on his shoulder. Or perhaps more so for it.

"It's been almost a fortnight, Gresham! When are we goin' te go after 'er?" Daniels spat, stopping before the large map. His brogue was so thickened because of his anger that he was hard to understand. "Look 'ere. I 'ave already plotted their most likely course. The bloody fool isna likely to stop anywhere on Albion soil, or the Capt'n would have made her escape. So we 'ave te assume he's gone abroad again." Slamming his fist down on the wooden desk, he pinned the Sheriff with a deadly glare. "Two weeks and not a sign nor message from 'er. If we wait any longer, we may nev'r catch up te 'im."

Sedgewick stroked his mustache thoughtfully. Sparrow had given them no orders to pursue her. In fact, she had seemed rather adamant on keeping her men and the townsfolk out of the altercation. Sparrow had given herself up to protect the town; they both knew that the Pirate King was a force to be reckoned with. But on the other hand, his superior was in danger, and if she had not escaped her captor, that could only mean that she was unable to, and would require their assitance.

"Very well, Daniels, ready _The Rose_. We'll leave with the evening tide." He paused before continuing. "I have my misgivings, but you're right. And our lady may need us. Make sure the ship and crew are battle ready," he cautioned. With a grim smile, Daniels nodded and strode from the office. Sedgewick sent up a quick prayer, knowing how little chance they would stand against the King of Pirates.

Hours later, after setting up his most capable deputy to look after the town in their absence, Sedgewick boarded the ship and stood next to Commander Daniels at the helm. As night closed around the world, _The Rose_ and her crew departed Bloodstone, chasing full-tilt after its lady and the Thief who dared to steal her away.

* * *

The moon was high as Sparrow stood silently by the window facing out to the deck. Sleep had not come easy to her tonight. With passive eyes, she watched the moonlight playing on the waves, turning the crests white on the black water. The Pirate King slept soundly on the bed behind her. It had taken some doing, after he had fallen asleep holding on to her, to remove herself from the bed. Before falling asleep he had insisted she massage him. She felt sick at the memory.

 _Reaver dropped his trousers to the floor, stepping over them and leaving them where they lay as he sat on the edge of the bed. Sparrow blushed furiously, refusing to look at him as she collected his discarded clothes and added them to a basket._

" _Sparrow_ ," _Reaver drawled_ , _laying face-down on the bed_ , " _be a dear and massage me_?"

 _Knowing it was not really a request_ , _she had climbed atop the bed_ , _still naked, and_ _kne_ _lt_ _next to him while she worked out the tension in his lean muscles_. _Unsatisfied_ , _he had insisted she climb atop him_ , _claiming she would have a better angle to work from_. _Apprehensively_ , _s_ _he had perched herself atop his high_ , _firm buttocks with her knees straddling his waist_ _._ _Trying not to focus on the feeling of his bare bottom pressed so intimately against the sensitive place between her thighs, she leaned forward to reach his shoulders_ ; _at least he was quiet and content_ , _making no further comment than the occasional sigh and moan as her nimble fingers soothed him_.

 _After twenty minutes she thought he would have fallen asleep_ , _his breathing was so soft and deep_ , _but as soon as she moved to climb off of him he had turned over_ , _so she found herself straddling his hips with him smiling lazily up at her_. _H_ _is aroused member was now between them_ , _feeling impossibly hard against her soft flesh_ _._ _ _She feared he would ravish her__ _._ _ _But he did not__ _._ _ _With one hand fisted in her hair__ _,_ _ _he forced her head down, and still further down__ _,_ _ _and she knew what he wanted__ _._ _ _She hadn__ _'_ _ _t had the good sense not to struggle__ _._ _ _Something inside her had taken over__ _–_ _ _perhaps it was her pride__ _–_ _ _but whatever it was__ _,_ _ _she__ _'_ _ _d stupidly resisted and earned an ear__ _-_ _ _ringing slap across the face for her efforts__ _._

 _ _Eyes watering__ _,_ _ _face burning__ _,_ _ _she t__ _ _ook__ _ _him into her mouth__ _,_ _ _cautiously at first__ _,_ _ _but he would have none of that__ _._ _ _Following his instruction__ _,_ _ _she took him__ _ _in__ _ _deep__ _ _er__ _,_ _ _all the way to the back of her throat__ _._ _ _To say she wanted to die in that moment was not describing it accurately enough__ _._ _ _She__ _'_ _ _d__ _ _kn__ _ _own__ _ _he would make these demands of her eventually__ _,_ _ _but being a slave did not rob her of her own feelings;__ _ _f__ _ _eeling__ _ _s__ _ _that the Pirate__ _,_ _ _in all his selfishness__ _,_ _ _did not begin to consider or acknowledge__ _._

 _ _Softly__ _,_ _ _she began to suck__ _,_ _ _earning a long__ _,_ _ _deep moan from him__ _._ _ _She was disgusted by the feeling of him in her mouth__ _;_ _ _the scent__ _,_ _ _the__ _ _warmth__ _,_ _ _the__ _ _taste__ _._ _ _But she continued regardless__ _,_ _ _reminding herself over and over of he could do to her if she refused__ _._ _ _She__ _'_ _ _d seen before what had been done to slaves who refused to submit__ _._ _ _Beatings__ _,_ _ _mutilation__ _,_ _ _torture__ _,_ _ _confinement__ _._ _ _She__ _'_ _ _d once rescued an enslaved man who had been locked in a box so small that he__ _'_ _ _d had to curl himself into a ball to fit inside__ _._ _ _He__ _'_ _ _d been in there for days__ _,_ _ _and when she__ _'_ _ _d pulled him out__ _,_ _ _he__ _'_ _ _d been unable to walk__ _._ _ _Just the act of stretching out his limbs had caused him unbearable agony__ _._

 _ _This memory alone kept her from biting down on the Pirate to let him know how she really felt__ _._ _ _She would not be so foolish__ _,_ _ _even if she wanted no part of him inside her__ _._ _ _But it seemed the Pirate felt she was going too slow__ _,_ _ _and grasping her hair__ _,_ _ _he forced her to increase her speed__ _._ _ _Sparrow gagged when he hit the back of her throat__ _,_ _ _and she was overwhelmed by the horrible feeling of being used__ _._ _ _He did not care for her discomfort__ _._ _ _She was only there to provide pleasure for him__ _._

 _ _After several minutes__ _,_ _ _she heard the Pirate gasp__ _,_ _ _and he shoved himself so deep into her mouth that he entered her throat__ _._ _ _She began to choke and struggle__ _,_ _ _but his hands on her head held her in place__ _._ _ _And then she felt it__ _._ _ _His seed was spilling inside her mouth__ _,_ _ _shooting down her throat__ _,_ _ _leaving a bitter taste on her tongue__ _._

 _Sighing happily_ _,_ _he did nothing more_ _after_ _than pull her down atop him and rest her head under his chin_ , _his arms snaking around her_. _His breathing became even slower and soon he really had fallen asleep_. _Sparrow waited another full t_ _hirt_ _y minutes before moving again_ , _taking another careful ten minutes to remove herself from the Thief_ ' _s grasp_.

And so here she stood, lost in misery as she remembered the way the Pirate had used her. The memory played in her mind over and over again, and inside herself she raged at her helplessness. There was nothing she could do. No way she could fight him. Neither could she run away while they were out at sea. Perhaps once they reached land somewhere, she would be able to come up with something better, but for now she could do nothing but endure. The only weapon at her disposal was passive acceptance.

The sound of movement behind her pulled her abruptly out of her speculations, and she turned to see Reaver tossing on the large bed, throwing the sheets and pillows askew. He was muttering, and without thinking, she moved closer to him and climbed up on the bed to place her hands on his heated skin. She made low shushing noises, trying to settle him. "Reaver? Reaver, wake up. It's only a drea-"

Her words were cut off as a pair of strong hands reached out and grabbed her. With a cry of shock she found herself on her back, the steel barrel of a pistol touching her temple. Reaver knelt over her, nothing more than a shadowed silhouette in the darkness. Alarmed, she opened her mouth to scream, to yell, to snap him out of it in any way possible, but he cut her off, his hot lips fused with hers, his other hand encircling the bare flesh of her thigh. The kiss was deep, almost violent, but held a strange desperation that ripped an unwilling moan from the back of her throat. He caught it in his mouth, ravishing her lips over and over until she was breathless and her mind was spinning hazily. At the sound of her whimpers he finally pulled away, leaving mere inches between them.

"Sparrow," she heard his ragged whisper.

"I'm here," she breathed.

"They're all gone, Sparrow. All of them. Gone." His voice held something she had never heard in it before. It was not arrogant or gloating. It was the empty, broken, the voice of a man long without hope.

"Shh..." she soothed. "Yes," she said, knowing in her heart whom he was talking about. "They are gone. A long time ago."

Reaver hung his head, nestled in the crook of her neck.

"Don't leave," he breathed huskily. "Stay…"

"Its all right," she crooned, stroking his soft hair with her fingers. "Sleep. Just sleep."

With a sigh he rolled off of her, shoving the pistol back under the pillow and pulling her body close to his, holding her tightly as his breathing evened out, and he was soon in a deep, untroubled sleep. Sparrow looked over his sleeping face, illuminated ever so slightly by the moonlight. So, Reaver still had the nightmares. Indeed, she suspected he always would. He would never escape what he had done. With a sad heart, she realized he truly was condemned. True, it was by his own hand, but that did nothing to console her.

With a jerk of her head, she scolded herself. She shouldn't need consoling. She had done nothing wrong. Reaver had made his decisions long before she had even been born. And it wasn't as if she could do anything to help him, even if she wanted to. Even if he would let her. But then... why did the thought seem to put a stone in her heart?

She looked up at him through her lashes, a hint of sadness in her eyes. "I'm sorry, Reaver, I cannot stay," she whispered.

Frowning at herself, she rolled out of his arms, then started when she felt the tips of her fingers brush against cold steel. _The pistol_. Reaver slept with a pistol under his pillow. A weapon. Right at her fingertips. It didn't have the extravagant feel of the _Dragonstomper_. _48_. No, this felt simpler. Confused, she gently retrieved the gun, eying Reaver cautiously as she held it up to the light, looking closely. Where had this gun come from? Why was it so significant that Reaver slept with it and not with his precious _Dragonstomper_? Apart of her thought it didn't matter. It was here, it was loaded, and Reaver was asleep.

It… it would be so easy. Just one swift pull of the trigger, and he would be gone. She would be free.

She watched him as he slept. She _could_ kill him. By Avo, if any man deserved to be put down, it was this knave beside her. She might not be able to hold a trial and a formal execution like she had originally intended, but did it really matter? His crimes and atrocities were the stuff of legend. His body count was probably ten times greater than her own. No, a hundred times. And unlike her, he killed without thought. Without remorse. If she executed him now, who would make a fuss about how she'd done it? Just his crimes against her alone were enough to warrant death by any means necessary.

Trembling, she held the weapon in a tight grip. She just had to do it. It was the right thing to do. Taking several deep breaths, she took aim at Reaver's sleeping form.

 _Just pull the trigger_ , she told herself. _End it_.

For several minutes she sat there like that, as Reaver slept in his bed, unknowing that his life was in her hands. Sparrow tried to steel herself, fought with herself, telling herself she had to do it. She'd killed men before. It was nothing. _But not like this_ , a voice whispered inside her mind. _Never like this_.

She'd never killed a sleeping, defenseless man. And that was the only way she would win against him now, without her powers.

Shoving the gun away in disgust, she climbed down from the bed and took her spot on the floor. For the first time in her life, she hated herself for her ridiculous morals. But no matter how she tried to rationalize it, she just couldn't kill him. Not now. Not like this. She couldn't murder a man in his sleep, no matter what he'd done.

Slowly, Sparrow allowed herself to drift away, putting aside her worries for one night. She would be able to do nothing until she reached land. She would just need to be patient until then.

* * *

The next morning, Sparrow awoke to the most wonderful warmth spreading through her limbs. She stretched out on the soft carpeting and pried her sleepy eyes open, then felt a horrible awareness wash over her. She looked down to see a fully awake and aroused Pirate kneeling between her thighs; he was leaning forward, his face buried between her bare breasts as he gently nuzzled each one, alternately kissing and licking at her skin. Her body was already burning, every nerve ending was sensitize; the sensual feel of his soft lips and hair trailing over her skin was sweet bliss, but it wasn't enough to make her forget his cruelty. Her guts twisted with shame, and she wanted nothing more than to shove him away. She almost followed that foolish impulse, going so far as to raise her hands to his shoulders, but she caught herself at the last second. It would be dangerous to push him away in this state. Avo only knew what he would do to her if she did.

Instead she tried to hold herself as still as possible, tried to not feel any reaction to what he was doing. She might not have the power to stop him, but she would resist in her own way.

As though to mock her intentions, a shiver went up her spine as his fingers trailed up over her stomach and cupped the underside of both her breasts. He lifted them to his mouth, and Sparrow bit her lips as his tongue trailed a wet path from the underside of her breast all the way up to the peak of her nipple. He flicked it repeatedly with his tongue, and against her will her back arched sharply off the floor, pressing her hips closer to his and lifting her breasts in offering to his diabolical lips. Emboldened, he repeated the action, flicking and licking the small, pink bud until it stood erect against his tongue. A moan escape Sparrow's unwilling mouth, and, smiling wickedly, the Pirate did not take the nipple into his mouth, but switched his attentions to her other, giving it the same treatment, until both nipples were swollen and painfully sensitive and Sparrow was gritting her teeth against her moans.

Her skin felt so sensitive that she wanted to scream; liquid heat burned through her blood, pooling between her thighs, until her hips jerked against his and her body was trembling pleasure and need. When at last he closed his lips around one pert nipple and suckled, she cried out in such ecstasy that she wanted to die from the disgrace of it. Why did he have to touch her this way? She'd rather he just took what he wanted than put her through this. Each tug of his lips sent a tremor of pleasure low into her belly, where an intense heat began to build.

Slowly, he slid his fingers between her slick folds, groaning when her heat burned his fingertips. He began to pulse his fingers inside her, against a spot so sensitive that her hips rose up from the floor and she cried out with each sharp jab of pleasure.

"You're ready for me, sweeting," he whispered against her throat. "Tell me you want me."

 _Yes_ , _yes_ , a voice inside her wanted to scream, but she bit down so hard on her tongue she almost drew blood.

"No." She bit out the word in one harsh gasp.

The Pirate went still, and his burning eyes suddenly turned cold. "What did you say to me?" he whispered harshly.

Sparrow's mouth went dry with fear. She knew the risk she was taking. She knew what he could do to her for her disobedience. But this was something she wouldn't do. She couldn't stop him from ravishing her, but she refused to tell him she wanted it. No matter how amazing his touch felt, she did not want this. Not with him. Not after everything he'd done to her.

"No," she said clearly, looking away to the side, too afraid to meet his eyes.

Immediately, his hand made contact with the side of her face. It stung horribly, even knocked her senseless for a moment, but she knew that would be the least of her punishments.

"I'm sorry, master," she whimpered. "I can't stop you, but I don't want this."

"You do not have a _choice_ in the matter," the Pirate said. "You belong to me. I will take you, and you will smile and thank me for the privilege of serving me."

"No," Sparrow whispered. "I won't."

His fingers closed around her nipple, and Sparrow cried out as he gave it a sharp twist. "I did not need to give you pleasure," he said coldly. "I could have taken you while you slept and you still would have had no choice but to accept me. I could take you now, without gentleness, and your pain would be the price for your insolence."

Sparrow said nothing. He was right. But she would not tell him she wanted it. No matter what happened, that was something she would not do. Squeezing her eyes shut, she waited for him to rape her.

Several seconds past. Maybe even minutes. Nothing.

Finally, Sparrow opened her eyes, and saw Reaver watching her with a peculiar expression. Neither of them spoke a word. Sparrow sensed that he was waging some kind of battle inside himself, though she did not grasp the nature of it. The, abruptly, he stood from floor.

"Kneel!" he barked, and Sparrow scrambled to her knees. Without preamble, he held her head in place with his hands and thrust his cock into her mouth. Cruelly, and without any gentleness, he took her that way, using her mouth the way he would use her body, and she choked and gagged and fought to pull away. The Pirate did not seem to notice her struggles, and for all the effort she put into them she barely made a dent in his hold on her.

When he'd spilled his seed down her throat, he grabbed her by the hair and dragged her above deck, where he ordered one of his men to beat her. Naked and weeping, she thrown onto the deck and caned twenty times. After that, the Pirate's fury seemed to calm itself, like a storm that had spent all it's energy and left behind clear, blue skies over a damaged terrain. He had her injuries treated, allowed her to clean herself, and asked nothing arduous of her for the rest of the day.

Sparrow could only sit there numbly, wondering why he hadn't forced himself on her. True, he'd used her, but he hadn't taken her like he'd said he would. Was there some humanity in him after all? She'd like to think so. That would give her some kind of hope. But even if he did, she had no idea how to reach out to it, or if it even truly existed. The only side of Reaver she knew was the monster. Maybe he'd only experienced a moment of weakness, and tonight he would make good on his promise?

When they retired, though, the Pirate made no such demand on her. He touched her how he pleased, and took pleasure in her mouth, instructing her in coarse, lurid detail what he wanted her to do to him, but when he was finished he did nothing more than send her to her spot on the floor, where she fell asleep in a state of confusion and relief.

* * *

For a week this pattern repeated. Sparrow followed his commands diligently throughout the day, but she dreaded the nights. He would hold her captive in his bed, and though he made no further attempts to ravish her, he still made use of her hands and mouth before touching her in places that made her moan and shudder. She wished with all her heart that he wouldn't. She wanted none of him, no pain, but certainly no pleasure.

Against her will, however, a desire began to build insider her. She fell to sleep each night biting her lips so that she wouldn't moan out-loud, and with her hands folded tightly against her aching breasts. Then each morning he would wake her with his hands and lips, touching her in ways that all but destroyed her resolve. He did not take her, and neither did he beat her. Instead he tormented her, bringing her to the brink of ecstasy and leaving her there, unsatisfied. By the end of the first week she felt a nearly constant burn inside her, a sweet ache that sometimes left her panting and short of breath even when the Pirate wasn't touching her. She hated him for it. She hated herself even more. But still she resisted him, even if only passively, which was some consolation. She gave him no reason to beat her, or worse, rape her, though she had no idea why he did not. She could tell he wanted her. She could _feel_ it. But for some reason only known to himself, he did not take her.

Meanwhile, Alex carefully avoided her, and Sparrow did not seek him out. If he truly did intend to help her, she did not want to draw any attention to him, and if she couldn't trust him, it was best he not get in her way. But still, he watched her, and though most days his face a hard, cold mask, sometimes she swore she caught a flicker of something that reminded her of the old Alex, the sweet young man who had had the great misfortune to fall in love with her. The very sight of it softened her, made her long for the past, a luxury she didn't usually allow herself. The past was dead and gone. Even Alex was no longer the man she'd once known. It would do no good to long for it.

* * *

One day, as she stood watching the ocean waves, a light breeze teasing her long tresses, strong arms wrapped around her from behind and roughened fingertips stroked the undersides of her breasts.

"Master," she moaned piteously, trying desperately to ignore the flames that burned her skin at the touch of his fingers. Reaver kept her pinned between him and the guard rail as he slipped his hands under the vest she wore and teased her nipples with his fingers.

"I felt you thinking about me," he whispered into her ear. "I am but answering your call."

Sparrow groaned. _If you felt anything from me at all_ , _you_ ' _d be rolling around in agony right now_ , she thought. As though he'd heard her, he gave her nipple a sharp pinch in response, and she gasped, attempting to twist herself out of his embrace. Finally, he allowed her to retreat, and for a moment she stood away from him, resiting the urge to cover her face with her hands in embarrassment.

"Did you require something from me?" she finally asked once she'd composed herself.

"I thought you might like to know we'll be reaching land soon," he said, and her embarrassment evaporated.

"Land?" she asked. "What port?"

"Sadrhi, city of the Conqueror. It's a grand metropolis at the edge of the sea. I promise, you've never seen anything like it," he boasted, leaning out over the railing.

So Alex had been right. Still, Sparrow frowned. "Why are we going there?" she asked, then hastily added, "Master?"

"I have several acquaintances there, not the least of which is a Prince Rajeev. An admirable fellow. He throws parties almost every night, and anyone who is anyone makes a point to attend," he said with a sly smile.

"We sailed across the sea to go to a party?" Sparrow asked, completely nonplussed.

"Well, of course. Prince Rajeev throws the best parties on this side of Samarkand."

Sparrow reminded herself she should just be happy to land again at long last. "When will we get there?"

"We should sail in tomorrow around noon," Reaver said, pushing himself away from the rail. "I hunger. Fetch me dinner. And yours. Bring them to my cabin. I have a game in mind for us tonight." With nothing more than a wink, he swaggered away.

Sparrow watched him go for several silent, contemplative moments before ducking below deck. She'd need to find Alex. If he truly intended to help her, she needed to know. If he didn't, she needed to warn him to stay out of her way, maybe even leave the crew. Reaver would not take her escape with a smile, of that much she was certain.

Quickly, but as nonchalantly as she could manage, she looked around the ship for Alex, finally finding him in the crew's quarters. He was alone; most of the crew were either still working, or in the galley, and Sparrow watched him for a moment as he sat on his cot. He was unlacing his boots, groaning like a man does when he's exhausted after a long day of work. For a moment Sparrow had a memory of him just like this, sitting in his favorite chair in their family room while she set out dinner. The image shook her, bringing back those old feelings that she kept locked away, and for a moment she was tempted to just turn around and leave, but Alex saw her before she could move.

"Sparrow," he said her name quietly.

Sparrow did not speak for a moment, then said, "We – we make port tomorrow."

"I'm aware."

There was a moment of silence between them.

"What do you intend to do?" she asked.

"What I said I would," he said. "I'll buy us passage by ship. It is the most logical course."

"How will I know when? Or which ship?"

"Tomorrow night, find a way back to the dock, and I'll have news for you," he said.

Sparrow said nodded. For a moment they stared at each other, and she was aware of a tension in the air. She sensed she should say something. She knew him; they shared a bond from years past, but there was such a distance between them. This man who had been her husband was a virtual stranger to her, and after what she'd done, he had no earthly reason to help her. And yet he was, at great personal risk to himself.

"You should go," he said. "Before the Captain comes looking."

Nodding, she moved away from him with great effort and left for the galley, where most of the crew was already eating their supper. They ate a simple meal; the most luxurious and sumptuous foods were reserved for the Captain's table. Before she made it through the doorway, however, she found her path blocked several of Reaver's crew. Five men stood over her, eying her body through her sheer clothing with greedy eyes, and Sparrow's keen instincts felt a threat coming from them.

Instinctively, she covered herself, and in a clear, steady voice she said, "I am on an errand for the Captain. Kindly let me pass."

"Oh, what's the hurry, poppet," one of the men said roughly. He had a terrible, wide smile on his face, and the other men began to move around her, closing in on her in the dark hallway. "We've been waitin' for days and weeks now. All we want is a few minutes alone with you. Well," he added with a laugh, "maybe more than a few."

She glared at him, nervously trying to back away. "Let me pass," she said again. "The Captain will be angry if his supper is late."

"Then we best make this quick," the man said, and he grabbed for her. She dodged him, then tried to run, but one of the other men grabbed her by her arms and slammed her against the wall so hard that Sparrow was knocked into a daze.

She tried to gather her senses. She knew she ought to scream, but who would help her? She was surrounded by pirates, and worse, she was a slave. She had no right to say no, not to anyone. And even if Reaver himself heard her scream, she had no guarantee that he would even save her.

She could feel the man's filthy hands on her body, touching her intimate parts as his disgusting mouth descended on hers. She tried to cry out, but the sound was muffled. She could feel his tongue thrust between her lips, and on instinct, she did the only thing she could think of – she bit him. Hard.

Yelping, the man jumped back, and after shooting her a contemptuous glare, he drew back his fist and slammed it into her guts.

Sparrow couldn't even cry out. She couldn't make a sound. She doubled over, blinded by pain. Her insides felt as though they were on fire. It was agony. With rough hands, she was shoved to the floor and, and someone kicked her in the side until she was rolled onto her back. A second later the man she had bitten was on top of her, with a long knife pressed against her throat.

"You like it rough, do you poppet?" he hissed. "Is that how the Captain gives it to you? Well, let it never be said I left a woman wanting."

She heard his cruel laughter and felt him pushing her skirts up. Terrified, she began to flail, gasping until she could get enough air in her lungs to scream, and when she did, it came out like the wail of a banshee. As soon as the sound started, however, a boot came out and made contact with the side of her face. Sparrow tasted blood in her mouth. Her mind was spinning with the pain, but her body had not given up. She began kicking at her attacker with her legs, and two of the other men grabbed her by the ankles and held her still, forcing her legs wide.

Her attacker covered her with his body, and he smiled cruelly down at her as he pressed his cock against her dry entrance. She could feel him pushing against her, trying to enter her, and her heart jumped with terror. She struggled with all her might, cursing the collar around her throat that suppressed her powers. The Pirate had weakened her, left her vulnerable, and now she was helpless against the likes of these men.

Then, just as she felt her body yielding to the man rigid flesh, she felt him go still, his whole body stiffening.

"On your feet," she heard a cold voice say.

There was no question in her mind who that voice belonged to. As the man stood, she saw Reaver behind him, and the look on his face was enough to make her heart quail with terror. There was death in his eyes. No rage. No hatred. Just a cold emptiness that was like looking into a grave.

When the man had stood, Reaver ordered him, his accomplices, and the entire crew above deck. Sparrow, too injured to move and gasping for air, was carried in one of his crewman's arms, a man who did not dare handle her with anything but the most proprietary of touches. Above deck she watched as Reaver forced the five men to kneel in a row. The one in the middle still had his pants around his ankles, and his member was visible for all to see. She knew in her heart what was about to transpire before she could even form coherent thought. The Pirate lowered his _Dragonstomper_ and blew the man's cock from his body.

A hair raising shriek carried through the night, and all watched as the man doubled over, crying as he grasped the place where his manhood had once been.

"I find myself amazed," Reaver began in a calm, clear voice, cutting over the man's cries, "that despite all of my generosities, some men still insist on reaching for more, taking what is not theirs." He paused, looked at each of the five men kneeling before him, then around at every crewman present. "Have not each of you received a generous commission? Have I not provided you more carnage and plunder than you have seen aboard any ship you've sailed on?" Another pause. No one dared speak. The only sound was from the man still hunched over and whimpering. "I believe I have been more than generous. And yet, the moment my back is turned, I find myself betrayed. I find my own men debasing and assaulting that which belongs solely and completely to their captain."

An uncomfortable silence went around the crew. Sparrow felt the man holding her shift uneasily, as though just by the act of carrying her, even under the captain's orders, would bring him death.

"As your captain, I would be remiss if I did not establish and enforce order," Reaver said. "So let this stand as a lesson to any and all who would follow these mens' examples and take what belongs to your captain." And without further preamble, he shot four of them through the head, leaving only the one who had physically tried to force his way inside her. He still remained hunched over his mangled body, gasping in agony.

Sparrow found herself struck breathless by the sudden display of violence. She had known there was no chance he would let the men live, but it still stunned her to watch Reaver murder them with her own eyes.

The last man he approached slowly, then, grabbing him by the head, he forced the man to look up at him. "You shall not be granted the mercy I showed the others," he said coldly. "For you, it's to the plank."

As she watched the man's eyes fill with horror, Sparrow half expected a cheer to go around at this pronouncement. It was how she had always imagined such a proceeding, as she knew how much these men relished violence. But there was fear in their hearts. Their King, their god, had made his displeasure known to all of them, and each feared it would be turned on them next. So it was with a strange, somber silence that a plank of wood was laid out over the port side of the ship, and her attacker was forced to walk out on it, swords pointed at his back. He was shaking like a leaf in the wind, begging for his life, begging even for a swift death, but Reaver ignored him.

Sparrow watched the proceeding, terror gripping her. By no means did she like this man. He had attacked her, tried to rape her, and she loathed him to the core of her being. And yet… and yet… the cruelty of this punishment tore at her. To throw a man overboard, and leave him behind, floating in the merciless, fathomless sea… This was beyond punishment. It was barbarous. She couldn't do it. She couldn't just sit and watch this atrocity.

"Master," she whimpered. "Please. Please, no."

Every face turned to her. She struggled out of the arms of the man carrying her, limped to Reaver, her arms clutched around her bruised, battered body, and threw herself at his feet.

If Reaver was surprised by her display, he did not show it, though he was the only one who did not. Every man around her seemed to be gaping, but she spared them no thought. Her eyes were locked with Reaver's.

"Please, master," she begged. "Punish him, if you must, even execute him outright, but please don't do this terrible thing."

His eyes hardened, and for a moment she feared he would strike her. She lowered her head humbly before him and touched his boot with her cheek. She was not brave enough to say more, and inside herself, she prayed.

Her answer was a single gunshot. Her head snapped up, in time to see the man's lifeless body sway and fall from the plank into the ocean. Sparrow felt a drop in her stomach, but also such a strong sense of relief that it made her lightheaded. She heard Reaver ordering the other bodies to be disposed of. He gave orders that every man was to work through the night, and there would be no meals until morning. Then he himself lifted her in his arms and carried her to his cabin.

She was in so much pain that every movement jarred her. The Pirate laid her on his bed, and a moment later he was forcing a blood-red potion between her lips. Sparrow knew the potion; she had used it many times before, especially during her adventuring days. It would heal her injuries from the inside out, quickly and completely, and even remove her pain. Such a potion was powerful enough to bring back a man who was an inch away from death. She was surprised by Reaver's consideration, that he would use such a costly item on her, for her well-being. How many times had this man beat her, or ordered her beaten, and left her to suffer with her injuries? She'd lost count. Now he took care of her, hovering over her almost with the air of an anxious lover, except that his eyes were still cold and merciless.

After she'd taken the potion, she looked up into his eyes, and for a long time they stared at each other. Though there was no rational explanation, it was the first time in a long time that Sparrow had been in his presence absent fear and loathing. He was still the same man who had abducted her, starved and beaten her, and then forced his brand on her. He was still the same man that had, even so recently as this morning, used her mouth for his pleasure with no consideration for her feelings or discomfort. That man was not gone.

She would never forget who and what he was, and everything he had subjected her to. But at this moment, all she could see when she looked at him was him removing that sick bastard from her body before he could violate her. He'd executed all of them, the men who would have raped her, and at the last moment shot a man he would have otherwise abandoned at sea, because she had begged him not to. She couldn't even begin to guess why he'd done it. She knew the Pirate King had no human feeling. But he had still done it. More than that, he had saved her. Maybe it was only because she was his slave, but he had still saved her, and rid his ship and the world of the men who had attacked her. And that, in some tiny way, softened her heart.

"Thank you, master," she finally said. He raised an elegant eyebrow, and she elaborated. "You saved me. I know you only did it because I belong to you, because I'm your property, but thank you for saving me from those men."

His cold expression did not change, but his fingers pushed her chestnut hair back from her face. "I should have had them all tortured," he said, the coldness of his voice countering his gentle touch. "They dared to lay a hand on what was not theirs. I should have had those hands cut off and left them to bleed to death."

The idea made her stomach churn, but she said nothing. The men who had attacked her were quite dead, so it wasn't as if Reaver could make good on his threat.

"You're tired," the Pirate said suddenly. "You will sleep here. I will join you later."

And he quickly withdrew. Confused, Sparrow watched him go. What had that been about? He never left her like that. Even when she was injured from a caning, he'd always forced her to service him. And yet now he left her, in his bed, to rest. Confused and exhausted, Sparrow did not have the energy to figure out the enigma that was Reaver. Sleep pulled her under, and, feeling safe and warm for the first time weeks, she did not resist.


	6. The City of the Conqueror

Disclaimer: Fable. Not mine.

Author's Scribble: Omg everyone I apologize profusely for taking so long to update. I know it's been a ridiculously long time. I am so sorry. Long story short, my boyfriend's mother died (she and I were really close), my laptop broke, it took forever for me to replace it, I've had to move twice, broke up with my boyfriend, and lost my job. It's been a nightmare. But please, without further ado, I give you the next chapter. I just hope some of y'all are still around to read it.

* * *

Chapter Six

The City of the Conqueror

* * *

Sparrow opened her eyes the next morning to a sense of such delicious warmth that she almost couldn't bear to move. Her back arched and her limbs uncurled before reaching around to wrap herself around that source of heat. It felt so wonderful, hard and firm but perfect to fit against. Her sigh of contentment was followed by a husky chuckle.

Sparrows eyes snapped open. Reaver's laughing eyes were there to greet her. She gave him a confused look, wondering what he was smiling about, until she took stock of her position; her limbs were wrapped around him, their bodies pressed intimately together. Flustered, she tried to scramble from the bed, but his arms held her flush against his nude form.

"You know, you're _almost_ beautiful when your face is flushed," Reaver commented, playfully tweaking the tip of her nose.

Sparrow scowled at him, sensing that he wasn't exactly complimenting her, but held back a biting retort.

Grinning to himself, the Pirate rose from the bed to stretch his long limbs, then began to clothe himself. "We will be reaching land soon," he said as he pulled on another _servan robe_ , this one in a rich shade of crimson, and a pair of the strange, loose trousers. After he was dressed, he tossed some clothing in her direction. It was the same sheer style of clothing as before, but this time the fabric was the color of pure ivory.

"If I may ask, why the change of wardrobe… sir?" she wondered aloud, looking at his unusual clothes as she climbed out of the bed.

Reaver shot her a smile. "The manners and customs of Samarkand vary based on what land you find yourself in. As do manners of dress. Sadrhi is located on the far southern coast of Samarkand. It is often sweltering during the day and tropical at night. The people try not to wear too many clothes," he added with a cheeky grin. "Besides," he mused thoughtfully, looking over her attire, "their style is very appealing to the eyes, even to a gentleman of my refined tastes who prefers nothing at all."

She eyed the clothes with distaste, then pulled them on. She could not hide her discomfort at the fact that she would be leaving the ship dressed in such sheer garments. As bad as it was having the crew stare at her, now everyone they passed on the street would be too. Carefully, she dressed herself, becoming aware as she did that her body, though healed from her ordeal the night before, was still somewhat tender, and she grimaced as she carefully wrapped the skirt around her hips.

The Pirate misunderstood her expression of discomfort, because he said, "You will be more comfortable in that, I assure you. The heat in this part of the world can be nigh unbearable. And you will be needing this," he added, walking to his wardrobe and retrieving a length of airy, ivory material large enough to wrap around her body and drape to the floor. Reaver helped her put it on, securing it around the waist of her skirt and wrapping it around her, then draping it over her head to cover her hair. He stood back to admire his handiwork. To her relief the fabric was not transparent and would conceal her body from prying eyes.

"Lovely," he deemed. He also gave her a pair of shoes, little more than silken ivory slippers with thin, leather soles. She felt ridiculous at the very thought of wearing them, but regardless put them on and followed him up on deck.

The first thing she saw above deck made her heart jump in her chest; there was a huge area where the wood was stained with blood. The very sight of it brought back the terrifying flashbacks from the night before with vivid clarity, and Sparrow covered her face with her hands, trying to block it out – the attack, the way those men had handled her, what they'd tried to do to her, the violence, their deaths. In that moment, it was like a nightmare she couldn't escape.

"Sparrow?"

Reaver was watching her with a look of impatience. Sparrow took several deep, calming breaths and pushed back the horrible memories, then bowed her head in a show of submission and forced herself to follow her master.

 _Why_? she wanted to ask him as he lead her away from the scene of violence. _Why did you have to murdered those men_? Of course, she was not foolish enough to question him, but it mattered not. She knew why. He had meant it as a punishment, and a warning. She was not to be touched, not by them, not without his permission. But still, she was just a slave – she no longer had the same rights as any other person. Brushing aside her personal trauma, by law, she had not been misused. And even if she had, the Pirate King recognized no law besides his own. Meaning that those men had broken his law, and had died for it.

This did not surprise her. She'd seen Reaver kill for much less. But this had felt… different. Though it made her shudder, she conjured up the memory of the night before, the cold, empty look in his eyes as he executed those men. There had been no emotion. It had not been a crime of passion. Nor was he flippant or jovial, as he had been when she'd witnessed him commit murder in the past. No, this almost had a certain _righteousness_ about it. He wasn't just drawing a line in the sand, so to speak, and warning others not to cross it. He was, in his way, righting a wrong that he felt had been committed. As they stood at the bow of the ship, she considered the fact that somehow, despite everything he had done to her, there existed within the Pirate's mind a law, a precept, that not only protected her, but demanded death as punishment for those who broke said law.

"There it is," she heard Reaver say, and Sparrow pulled herself from her thoughts in time to see her first glimpse of Samarkand appear on the horizon. They watched it come closer until Sparrow could make out the details of the land closing in on them. She was immediately stunned by how... alien it was. The landscape was a sea of spires and domes as far as the eye could see, and as they drew nearer, she could make out extravagant stone statues and monuments peppering the city.

"Incredible," she breathed, not aware she said it out-loud until she heard Reaver chuckle.

When they made port, she walked down the plank on shaky legs, and followed Reaver to something he called a 'rickshaw'; it was a simple buggy on two wheels pulled by a peasant who was harnessed to the cart like a mule. She was surprised at seeing this.

"We can't ride in that," she protested without thinking. The Pirate glanced over his shoulder at her, and saw she was visibly concerned for the man.

"It's quite all right. These are everywhere throughout Samarkand," he reassured her, and she grudgingly followed his orders and delicately perched herself on the cushioned seat before he slid in beside her. As he was positioning himself, Sparrow dared to look back at the ship. She was not surprised to see Alex among the crew staying aboard. As though sensing her gaze, his eyes met hers and they locked. His face was expressionless, as she hoped hers was, but at the same time there was a distinct difference in his eyes. She couldn't place it, and before she could analyze it any further, Reaver was giving the peasant orders in a strange tongue and they took off at a swift pace, weaving in and out of the bustling city.

Sparrow paid close attention to everything they passed. The first thing she noticed was that Reaver had been right – it was _hot_. As they rode through the city, her skin was buffeted by a dry, scorching heat that was not unlike standing too close to a bonfire. Worse yet, the sun was almost blinding in its brightness, and she pulled her wrap lower over her head, trying to shield her eyes. The next thing she noticed was the road – row after row after row of hand-made rectangular clay cobbles, thousands upon thousands of them, worn smooth by so many feet. The buildings came next. They ranged from extravagant to simple and were made of stone, wood or straw. Looking around, she saw the people were indeed dressed in loose, colorful clothing like theirs. The people themselves had beautiful dusky skin like her housekeeper, Mrs. Kumar, and most people complemented their faces and bodies with an array of ostentatious gold jewelry, from bangles to intricate earrings and hairpieces, some bejeweled with everything from rubies, to pearls, to diamonds. The air was filled with their voices, thousands of them, speaking in their peculiar tongue.

As they made a sharp turn, they passed an elegant stone temple issuing a light stream of smoke. Sparrow caught a whiff of a strange scent as they passed; it was musky, but mixed with an indescribable aroma that made her feel almost euphoric.

The longer they traveled the nicer and less crowded the streets became. The straw houses disappeared and the temples became grander. Finally, they came to a stop at the largest structure Sparrow had yet seen. She could only assume it was a palace, home to this Prince Rajeev. There were dozens of spires made from pristine white stone and topped by elegant domes made from gold that shone brighter than the sun. The stone walls were embellished in certain places with intricate carvings, some etched in, some as statues that emerged life-like from the stone's surface. She blushed when she realized that many of these effigies were depictions of men and women, nude and displayed in erotic, if not downright lascivious poses.

"What do you think?" Reaver asked as she slid out of the rickshaw. He tossed the man a coin and he took off with what she could only assume was 'thank you'.

"Very… decadent," she replied, looking with awe upon the blatant opulence.

Reaver's smile turned wicked. "I'm afraid everything is decadent in Sadrhi."

They were met at the palace gates by over a dozen imposing guards, and escorted inside by a man who stood at what must have been seven feet tall. He had dark skin, dark eyes, and a sizable, jagged curved blade at his hip. Despite his menacing appearance, his tone was low and respectful, and he led them to the inner palace, straight to a large circular chamber. There were no tapestries on the walls here, but more effigies carved into the stone. The furniture was lavish and designed for comfort, and colorfully woven rugs padded the stone floor. In the center of the room was one man, and Sparrow could instantly see why he and Reaver were 'friends'. The man, whom she presumed was Prince Rajeev, was distinguished, with long black hair that fell about his shoulders in loose waves and a strong, handsome face. He displayed like a peacock in blue and green robes, surrounded by over a dozen bejeweled and beautifully clothed women. At the sound of their entrance, all looked toward them and all smiled when they saw the Pirate King. Standing behind him, Sparrow discretely rolled her eyes to the heavens.

The prince stood and greeted Reaver with open arms. "Reaver, my good friend, welcome. Eet ees a pleasure tu see yu again." She was surprised to hear him speak their tongue, though heavily accented and somewhat broken. Silently, she wondered just how _good_ of friends they were.

Reaver hugged the man with a familiarity that surprised her. "Rajeev, I could not stay away."

"Yu have brought someone wit you thees time," he said as they released, and the prince looked at her for the first time, visibly intrigued. "May I ask who thees lovely lady ees?"

Reaver shrugged, "This my newest thrall."

Sparrow flushed with embarrassment and looked down at the floor. She didn't know what she expected. Did she think Reaver would allow her to retain any dignity? That he would introduce her as a person?

She couldn't meet the man's eyes, she was so humiliated, but the prince eagerly came forward to greet her and kissed her hand. His smile reached his dark brown eyes, filling them with true warmth. " _Surabhi_ , eet ees my pleasure tu welcome yu tu Sadrhi." She smiled politely, and the Prince stood back to look at her face more closely. "Such a beautiful thrall yu have. Where did yu find her?"

"I acquired her when I returned to my homeland," the Pirate said, sounding pleased with himself.

"If I had known they possessed women of such beauty, I would have gone there with yu." Then the Prince gave Reaver a questioning look. "May I have a closer look?"

"As you wish," Reaver said indifferently as he made himself comfortable on a cushioned chair, where several women immediately began to fawn over him. Looking Sparrow in the eyes, he said, "Show yourself to him."

Sparrow balked for a moment, wondering if he could really be serious. One look told her he was, and felt her face flush even deeper. With stiff, mechanical movements she removed the wrap covering her body. She dropped the fabric to the floor, standing in her sheer garments. She heard the Prince draw in a sharp breath, and her blush deepened.

"Such a lovely thrall," he said approvingly. At another stern look from Reaver, she began to remove the rest of her garments, but the Prince brushed her hands aside. He untied the strings holding her vest closed himself, then exposed her breasts to his awed gaze. He let the vest slide down her arms to the floor, then took her soft breasts in his hands. Sparrow's breath hissed out between her teeth. She had grown used to Reaver handling her however and whenever he pleased, but for this prince, this stranger, to touch her as though he owned her sent a shiver of unease down her spine. She kept her gaze toward the floor, feeling many eyes watching her, feeling more and more self-conscious as the prince lifted each breast alternately as though weighing them, then stroked her nipples until they tightened and hardened against his thumbs. A short, breathy moan escaped her lips before she could stop it, and her eyes flashed up to meet his. He smiled down at her, clearly pleased with her response.

"Maybe yu would sell her to me?" he said to Reaver as he stroked her nipples again.

Her eyes jumped to Reaver's, whose face broke into a wide smile. "It's possible."

Sparrow swallowed hard, but bit her tongue against her protest. The prince's hands moved down her sides, skimming her waist and hips before he began to pull at her skirt, which fell to the floor around her feet. He then walked around her several times, touching her and inspecting her body. Sparrow looked up at the ceiling, trying to ignore both him and the many sets of eyes watching her. It was degrading to be handled this way. It sickened her. She wanted to remove the man's hands from his wrists, but knew this was impossible. As it was she could never dare to protest. Tears of fury moistened her eyes, but she did not allow them to slide down her cheeks.

She could feel his hands on her skin, caressing her breasts and her belly, her back and her bottom, her arms and her legs. She remained impassive as he moved her this way and that, repositioning her and looking at her from different angles. Eventually he knelt before her and spent several minutes admiring her brand, running her fingertips over the scarred flesh, then, without warning, he lifted her left foot onto his shoulder and buried his face between her thighs, inhaling deeply.

Sparrow squealed in surprise, and struggled with herself to _not_ try to pull away. Her eyes sought Reaver's desperately. Just how far was he going to let this go?

"I assumed you'd invite me to one of your notorious celebrations," the Pirate drawled, seeming to ignore her predicament as he focused on selecting a piece of fruit from a silver dish. "Assuming there is to be one."

The Prince drew away from her and smiled at his friend.

"Of course," he said, getting to his feet, "I'll host one tomorrow. We can dine with my brothers tonight, if that is to your liking."

The Pirate nodded that it would be, and signaled Sparrow to kneel beside his seat. Knees trembling, Sparrow hurried to obey, and knelt on the floor next to the Pirate while he continued to converse with his friend. They were conversing in the prince's native tongue, meaning Sparrow could no longer follow their conversation, but she dreaded what they might be saying. Would Reaver really sell her? She looked up at his face, but found no indication as to what they were talking about. Several minutes passed as she knelt there, her stomach twisting sickeningly as she contemplated what her future might look like now. Barely an hour ago, the knowledge that she was Reaver's property had seemed night unbearable. Now she found herself even more terrified by the thought that she could be sold to a total stranger in an alien land. What would happen to her then?

"Would yu like tu keep her een my harem until then?" the Prince suddenly asked in their language, jolting Sparrow out of her reverie.

Reaver stood. "Very well, I am much obliged," he said, then addressed Sparrow. "Clothe yourself."

Sparrow immediately began to dress, grateful for the feeling of fabric covering her skin once again. The Prince clapped his hands twice and the women rose. Another of the women helped her arrange the length of fabric around her so she was covered properly, and as all the women gathered near the door, she took a moment to approach her master, "What exactly is a harem… sir?"

"It is where the Prince keeps his women," the Pirate said shortly. "It is the most guarded place in the palace. Men are forbidden to enter."

As though to deliberately contradict his words, several male guards entered the room. "And them?" she asked.

"The harem guards. They will escort and protect you. Don't worry about them. They are all eunuchs," he explained, then gave them a sad look. "A pity really, and a sad state for any man to be in."

The other women were being rounded up by the guards, and Sparrow hesitated for a moment, then blurted, "Are you – are you really going to sell me to that man? Master?" Avo, but she hated using that word.

The Pirate gave her a confused look, which slowly transformed into a wicked smile. "Perhaps," he said noncommittally. "It's an intriguing thought. I'll end up selling you eventually, when I tire of you, and I could charge a high price indeed for a Hero."

Sparrow's breath caught in her throat as a wave of dread washed over her. As horrible as it was being Reaver's slave, or being a slave at all, she knew she did not want to be sold. Not to some man she did not know, in a strange land far away from Albion where she knew neither the customs nor the language. Reaver, despite his many flaws, was at least familiar to her. She knew him, knew what he was capable of, knew what to expect. Strange as the thought was, Reaver was by far preferable to the unknown.

The Pirate seemed to sense her distress, because he tenderly caressed her cheek. "Learn to please me, little Sparrow, and continue pleasing me. Do this and you need not fear being sold any time soon." Then his smile turned malicious. "Continue to incur my displeasure, however, and I'll sell you not to a prince or some other high-ranking gentleman, but to the lowest, foulest beast of a man I can find."

The blood drained from Sparrow's face, and she knew he meant it. Then, at a nod from Reaver, Sparrow was led away with the other women.

Overcome by nerves, she stumbled many times as she walked with the other women through the halls. She couldn't deny that despite everything the Pirate had done to her, she felt more afraid away from him, in this strange place, with these strange people. How would she feel if she were forced to stay here permanently, without him? What would become of her? With Reaver's modified Spire collar around her throat, she was just a helpless human. Anyone to could anything to her in her current state, and she could do nothing to stop them. Grimacing, she tried to push that terrifying thought away and tried to focus as she entered the 'harem' the Pirate had banished her to.

To Sparrow, the harem seemed to take up an entire wing of the palace. There main chamber was enormous with several hallways and antechambers branching out from it, each one more lavish and elegant than the last. In the center of the main room a large, rectangular area of the floor was sunken in several feet and patterned with colorful tiles. This was filled with clear, scented, steaming water, in which many women lay soaking themselves.

The moment she entered, one of the guards passed her over to an elderly woman who seemed to be some manner of authority figure. The woman looked Sparrow over, snapped her fingers, and two plain-faced young women appeared on either side of Sparrow and removed her shawl without so much as a by-your-leave. The old woman proceeded to inspect Sparrow, talking in her strange tongue.

"I'm sorry," Sparrow said slowly and clearly. "I don't know what you're saying."

The woman immediately stopped talking, her eyes narrowed in displeasure, and after a pause spoke to the girl on her left before she turned and walked away. The two women on either side of her forced Sparrow forward, taking her by the elbows as they lead her into one of the antechambers. In this room was a bath, already filled with water. Before Sparrow could react or say anything, the women immediately began to strip her of her garments, and Sparrow instinctively tried to push their hands away, but it was no use. They forced her clothes off her, after which Sparrow immediately went for the bath. One of the women stopped her with several loud words that she couldn't understand.

"What's wrong?" Sparrow asked, looking at them in confusion. They if they brought her here and removed her clothes, she could only assume they wanted her to bathe.

One of the women left the room while the other lead her away from the bath by her elbow. On the other side of the large room there was a spout protruding from the wall, and connected to it was a silk, corded rope. The girl positioned her under it, then pulled the cord; water instantly came pouring down over Sparrow's head. She gave a start, not really sure what she'd been expecting, but then relaxed. The water was quite pleasant, neither hot nor cold, but all too soon the woman released the cord and the water stopped. Sparrow brushed her wet hair out of her eyes and saw that the other girl had returned. She was carrying a shallow, flat-bottomed wooden bowl with several strange objects inside it. Sparrow saw several smaller bowls holding different creams, and a sponge-like thing that appeared to be made of stone.

Despite Sparrow's protests, they began to clean her all over, applying different creams to her body and hair. The invasion of personal space was beyond what Sparrow was used to. Even though she was the mayor of Bloodstone, no one ever helped her with so simple a task as bathing. But even bathing didn't seem strong enough a word for what these women were doing to her. After covering her with soaps and creams, they scrubbed her with the stone sponge. It didn't exactly hurt, but Sparrow felt as though several layers of her skin were being scraped off. She was washed from head to toe, and then forced back under the spout and rinsed thoroughly. Following this they covered her skin with another cream. It was a pale lavender color, and it made her skin tingle coolly. They spread it over every inch of her skin below the neck, even in the intimate places between her thighs and buttocks. They were very thorough, and whenever Sparrow tried to struggle, they gave her a sharp rap on the shoulders.

Finally, when she was completely covered in the stuff, they let it settle on her skin for several minutes, then one of the girls took a soft cloth and firmly rubbed it off, leaving her skin feeling lighter and cleaner than it ever had in her life. They forced her under the spout one more time, and when the water stopped, Sparrow looked down at herself and saw that every single hair on her body had been denuded, leaving every inch of her skin glistening like a pearl.

Sparrow gaped at them. She couldn't imagine why they had done this to her, and she wasn't even sure she understood _how_. When men and women in Albion wanted to remove body hair, they either scraped it off with a straight-razor, or they plucked it out. And they certainly didn't remove _all_ of it.

At long last they seemed finished with her, and they let her into the bath. Sparrow submerged herself in the steaming water with a great sigh of relief, hoping they wouldn't pull her out again for a very long time. As she laid back against the sloped end of the tub, a padded cushion was slipped under the base of her head and one of the girls sat behind her, out of her view; Sparrow could feel the girl working on her rich chestnut-colored hair, rubbing it gently with a drying cloth, brushing it, and rubbing it some more. The other was working on her hands, mainly her fingernails, Sparrow wasn't paying much attention to either of them anymore. Instead she took the time to relax and think.

As undeniably enjoyable as this bath was, she couldn't help the feeling of being… out of sorts. This place, with its strange customs, didn't even seem real. It was a place where there were serving women to bathe her, her body was treated as though it wasn't even her own, and she was kept in a room with other women under constant guard. It was nothing like her life in Albion. By her standards, this world was lavish to the most extreme degree, and if Reaver sold her to that prince, this is exactly the place she would end up in. On the surface, she supposed it didn't seem so bad, but she couldn't imagine she'd be happy here. She'd be living in the lap of luxury, but she'd have no more freedom than a treasured pet. And that's if she was very lucky. _Then again_ , she realized with a wince, _it could be so_ , _so much worse_.

 _Learn to please me_ , Reaver had told her. She had very little doubt of what he meant, and if she did not obey, he would sell her to the worst scoundrel he could find. And Sparrow did not doubt he was well acquainted with several. A man like him must have friends in the lowest echelons of society. She knew those kinds of men. Men who existed that would torture women for no other reason than it gave them pleasure to do so. She had encountered more than her fair share in rescuing other slaves, and she dreaded being at the mercy of such a man.

Not that Reaver had been gentle with her – in fact, some of his actions toward her had been downright barbarous – but so far, his methods always served a purpose, whether it was to break her or punish her. He had never hurt her just for _fun_. By contrast, the alternative greatly frightened her. No one would help her. She was a property. She had no rights.

The thought made her eyes moisten again, bringing up the horrible memories of the prince's hands on her, touching her as though he were inspecting an animal. She hated feeling so weak, so helpless. If the Pirate willed it, any man could do anything to her at any time, and she do nothing to stop it.

The image of Alex's face abruptly filled her mind, and despite herself, she felt a glimmer of hope. Alex… he did not see her as property. Even after she had been branded, he had never spoken to her as though she were such. She was still Sparrow to him. He was her only hope, but who knew when she would be able to contact him again? He was expecting her to meet with him tonight, but she couldn't see how that would happen. She was in a palace harem surrounded by guards – sneaking out and getting down to the harbor without being missed seemed an impossible feat. And even if she did, who knew when or if he would be able to get her safe passage to Bloodstone. It might be weeks before there was a ship headed to Albion, and Reaver could decide to sell her in the interim. If that happened, she might end up somewhere Alex could no longer reach her. Then she would be beyond help forever.

She was drawn from her thoughts by the serving women, who helped her out of the bath and dried her thoroughly. Sparrow did not protest the way they handled her body this time. There would be no point. She left them finish, and then they lead her, still naked, to an adjacent room. It was obviously some kind of dressing room. Fabrics, jewels, and pigments of every color were available for selection. One of the girls helped her get comfortable on a pile of beautifully decorated cushions, and the two women spent over an hour drawing intricate, swirling designs on Sparrow's body with antique-gold ink. They covered her hands, feet, shoulder, and lower back. They even drew designs on her belly that reached up and swirled around her breasts, and down between her thighs. Sparrow still felt uncomfortable, but she no longer squirmed. Finally, when they were finished, they dressed her in an airy, flame-colored _sare._

The flame-colored _sare_ was more decadent than the ones Reaver had had her wear. There were gold designs embroidered into it, and a beaten gold rope to secure it at the waist. Several gold bangles were added to her wrists and ankles, and gold powder was painted onto her face around her hairline and faded out toward her face. Pure black _kohl_ outlined her eyes, and more gold trinkets were added to her hair. When she finally saw herself in a large standing mirror, she hardly recognized her own image.

 _This can_ ' _t be real_. She touched her cheek and her reflection mimicked her. _That cannot be me_. Her stomach twisted into a hard knot knot. _Who_ am _I_? _What am I doing her_? That woman in the mirror was not her. It just couldn't be. To the women around her, this was all common-place and normal, but this was not her world. This was not who she is, but who Reaver wanted her to be. And in accordance with his desires, the old Sparrow was being washed away and this strange, exotic creature reflected back at her was taking her place. She couldn't stop it from happening. Sparrow was disappearing. How long before she would be gone entirely?

For the first time since the day Reaver had placed his brand on her, Sparrow allowed herself to weep.

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A/N: Btw, that cream mentioned isn't Nair lol, its an actual cream that has some history in Turkey... or was it India... Or maybe the former Ottoman Empire (I don't know how reliable the source I read that from was though, but it seemed like an interesting idea none the less.) I really hope you enjoyed. If you like leave a review on your way out please and I'll try so so hard to update soon. It's not like I have a job to keep me busy anymore anyway.


	7. Surrender

Disclaimer: I don't own Fable 1 2 or 3.

Author's Rambling: Yes, it's been a long time since I updated. But my life has been a nightmare. I have not other defense to offer. I just really hope some of you are still around to read this. I'm too ashamed to even look at when the last time I updated was. I tried to make this chapter long, and even ended up writing a few more pages only to realize that they would work better in the next chapter, so at least you know another update is already in the works. Enough about me though. It's time to move on to better and darker things.

Warning: Definite Graphic Adult Content Ahead.

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Chapter Seven

Surrender

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It was hours later when Sparrow was summoned at Reaver's behest. She'd long since finished crying by then, and her makeup had needed to be removed and reapplied before she was deemed suitable again. She'd spent every hour since hiding herself in a corner of the harem. She hated to do so; it made her feel cowardly. But she needed time alone, and with so many other women present she found it difficult to find a modicum of privacy.

When Sparrow realized she was being summoned, she got to her feet with a sense of dread. Where was she being taken? What would Reaver demand of her when she got there? To her confusion the servant who fetched her led her not to the door she'd entered through, but to a large tapestry that hung on the wall from ceiling to floor. Sparrow studied it for a moment, taking in its remarkable colors and detail, only to gasp in surprise when the servant drew it to the side and revealed a dark, cavernlike entrance behind it.

 _A secret passage_? Sparrow thought in wonder. She was given no time to ponder it as the serving woman ushered her inside.

It was like a maze. Even with a torch lighting their way, Sparrow found herself lost almost as soon as the tapestry had fallen back into place behind them. It was like a labyrinth. The path they were on branched off in every which direction, there were stairs that took them both up and down, and even when they did finally depart from the main path, there were more paths branching off that one.

Sparrow gave up on trying to memorize their trail after only a few minutes. By the time they reached their destination she had lost all sense of where she was. Perhaps fifteen minutes had passed by her reckoning when the serving woman stopped and drew back a long curtain to her left, flooding the dim passage with light.

Sparrow was ushered into a room, and her ears were at once assaulted by the raucous laughter of men. Six, she realized as her eyes glanced around the room. Reaver was among them, and the prince, along with four men she had not previously met. Three of them had the same dark coloring as everyone else in this land, and one bore a striking resemblance to the prince. A brother, perhaps? The fourth man looked different from any of them. He did not have the look of a warrior, but the thin katana he kept easily within reach suggested otherwise. He was tall and slenderly built, though the exact dimensions of his body were hard to determine through the loose garments he wore. His clothing was not like attire of the men in this land, but was cut differently, with what she could only describe as a sense of precision and refinement. His shirt was such a deep shade of violet that it was almost black. It looked more like the upper half of a robe, folding over itself across his chest, and at the neckline she could see another two layers of ivory fabric beneath it. His pants were waist high, coming up over the bottom hem of the shirt, and were so loose that he could have been wearing a skirt; these were patterned with thin vertical striped, alternating black and gray. His feet were covered by strange white socks that a single slit in them, separating the big toe from the rest, and he wore no shoes. Lastly, he wore a kind of jacket; it was the same shade of violet as his shirt, and large and loose, left open at the chest and falling down to his knees, with billowing sleeves that went to his wrists. It was sparsely adorned, with only a hint of gold tread embroidered into a tiny crest over the left side of his chest where his heart would be.

As startling as the clothing was, she was even more off-put by the man himself. He was strikingly beautiful; indeed, she had rarely seen such beauty, among men or women. His skin was fair, and his hair was long and dark, falling in loose, glorious waves down his back. Even more striking was his face; it was slender, almost feminine, and his eyes were narrow and slanted, and fringed with dark, thick lashes. With his coloring, she expected his eyes to be dark, but when he looked at her, they were the color of cold, hard steel.

Sparrow shivered and meant to look away, but as though he felt her gaze his eyes flicked up to meet hers, and Sparrow was frozen in place. She had never seen eyes such as his. Even Reaver, who was as merciless as they came, did not have eyes like that. The Pirate's eyes could turn hard and merciless, but there was also a fire in them that drove him to consume and destroy. This man's eyes were completely empty. There was no fire, no life, _nothing_. It sent a chill down her spine. He reminded her of a bird of prey, and she knew that if he chose to strike at her, or anyone at all, it would be carried out with utmost accuracy, and completely without mercy.

The man's gaze lingered on her, but not in the lustful way she was coming to expect from the men here. No, his eyes were calculating, as though with a single glance he could see inside her and was filing the information away should he require it later. Sparrow did not look away. His probing stare rankled, and she met his gaze with a challenging one of her own, and to her surprise one corner of the man's thin lips quirked up, as though he found her boldness amusing, but then he looked away dismissively, and Sparrow let her eyes drop to the floor. Throughout that brief exchange, it appeared no one else had seemed to notice her presence, so she took a few steps sideways around the room, taking a moment to observe the gathering before Reaver forced her to join it.

It was obvious the men had been drinking and celebrating for many hours already. The wine flowed freely, served to them by some of the dozen scantily clad women in attendance. They wove easily between the men, stepping lightly on a floor that was strewn with soft, richly-colored rugs and large colorful, plushy cushions. The men lounged upon these, arranged in a loose circle around another large cushion, upon which, to Sparrow's intense embarrassment, she saw two slave women kissing and caressing each other. Their soft moans were an undertone to the men's conversation. Additionally, each man was fondling, or being fondled by, at least one woman, with the exception of the silver-eyed foreigner, who like her seemed to just be observing the other guests. The women flocked around him of course, but he did not touch them, and the sheer coldness that seemed to emanate from him kept them from trying to touch him.

Reaver, on the other hand, had _three_ women on his cushion, and the floor around him was littered by empty wine decanters, while he drank heartily from one in his hand. The man, if he could even be called that, was the very image of decadent gluttony, and Sparrow's lip almost curled in disgust.

At that moment, Reaver looked up and caught her gaze. "At last! She has arrived," the Pirate said, his voice booming across the room. "Don't be shy, Sparrow, come closer. Let us look at you."

Every eye riveted upon her, each intoxicated man looking her over with lewd appreciation. Except for the _one_. His eyes remained cold, and again she shivered. She did not want to move, but Reaver was waiting, so she forced herself to take a step, then another, weaving her way cautiously between the women, guests, and furniture until she stood before the Pirate, stopping just a few feet away when the Pirate held up his palm out to her, indicating for her to stop.

"Marvelous," he said, his tone reverent and admiring. He stood from his cushion, brushing the other women away from him, and stepped forward to look her over as though he had never seen her properly before. He was surprisingly steady on his feet, and he walked in a loose circle around her. "It's amazing, isn't it?" he said musingly. "A mere day ago I thought her barely passing fair. Now look, my friends. Look at what a woman can become under a man's control."

A flare of temper went through her, but she dared not rise to the bait.

"I dunno, Reaver," one of the men interjected. "Can't see much of her myself."

The other men laughed coarsely, and Sparrow shuddered. She waited for a command from the Pirate, but to her surprise he grabbed her by the elbow instead, swinging her around him until she stood facing the gathering with him behind her, his chest against her back.

"Then look more closely, my friends," he invited. "Look your fill."

Sparrow's heart began to race as she felt his hands caress her through her clothing before he began to tear it from her body. The flame-colored fabric was no match for him; she could hear ripping, feel it giving way with almost no resistance. It was a horrible replay of the events from this morning, except that now there were more eyes watching her, taking in her nakedness and humiliation. She turned her head to the side and closed her eyes against them, trying not to feel the last scraps of fabric fall away. Her passive resistance did not matter. She could still feel their eyes looking her over. It was even worse this time, because she no longer had even her body hair to offer her any covering.

She could hear them talking softly amongst themselves, but she couldn't bear to listen or open her eyes. Their voices were just meaningless noise. She knew they were commenting on her, but each man spoke in languages she did not understand. She squeezed her eyelids tighter, trying not to succumb to the weakness of tears. She had taken that luxury while she was alone in the harem, away from prying eyes, but she would not give in to it now. She would not allow them to shame her further.

"Well, gentlemen?" Reaver purred, his lips close to her ear and his hands still holding her close to his body. He placed a line of gentle kisses down the side of her neck. "Is she not a remarkable sight?"

His right hand trailed up her stomach and across her ribs, finally cupping one breast in his palm. With a few tweaks of his fingers, her nipple hardened to a tight point, and she heard a man's guttural groan in response. Sparrow felt a tremor of fear go up her spine. What was Reaver planning for her? Did he intend to let these men use her? What would he let them do to her? The question filled her with dread. These men were an unknown to her. She couldn't predict their actions. But Reaver was here and… and he wouldn't let them hurt her… would he?

She didn't have a certain answer to that, and her stomach churned unpleasantly. She _needed_ him now, cruel joke though it was. She needed him to keep her safe. She almost wanted to laugh at the sickening reality, but laughter would not allow her to escape it, so she kept silent. She was no longer able to defend herself. If these men wanted her, they would have her, and they could do anything they wished. And Reaver would let them, if he was of a mood. And he would give her to them… if he became displeased with her. That he had made perfectly clear.

Struggling against the part of her that still resisted any form of surrender, she decided to act boldly, hopefully forestalling any preconceived plan the pirate might have in his twisted mind. She turned in his arms and pressed her body intimately against him, and for the briefest second, she felt his body stiffen. She had surprised him. That gave her small measure of satisfaction, and emboldened by that small victory, she brought her lips to his skin, kissing him sensually along his collar-bone and up his throat. The Pirate groaned in response and with a tight arm around her waist, he quickly assumed command. She felt an uncomfortable moment of weightless disorientation as he fell backward, taking her with him, onto the plushy cushion he had been lounging upon. Sparrow jerked away, gasping as their bodies pressed together intimately.

He leered at her, his eyes glinting darkly. "Now, now, Sparrow. You started this. You would stop now, just when I find you so desirable and… _pleasing_?"

She did not miss his heavy emphasis on that one word. He was reiterating what he had told her earlier. The key to her safety and stability lay in pleasing him. If she continued to refuse, well… her fate could always be so very much worse. Steeling herself, she brought her lips to his and allowed the Pirate to ravish her mouth once again. She was breathless and lightheaded when he broke the kiss and told her, in very coarse language, to undress him. Just like that, she was once again aware of so many eyes upon her, watching her every move.

"Re – master?" she whispered uncertainly, glancing surreptitiously around the room. "He – here? Now?"

"Mmmm yes, I think so, my pet," he purred. "Show us all what a good little thrall you are."

From the corner of her eye, Sparrow glanced around the room, noticing that the prince already had one girl kneeling between his legs as he watched her, her head moving sensuously up and down, and Sparrow quickly looked away from his unconcealed lust. The other men watched her with much the same desire in their eyes. And the last man, the one with the steely eyes, merely observed her with dispassionate interest. She tried to glance at him without being noticed, but their eyes met instantly, and she flinched away from the contact, finding she could not look back. Instead she refocused herself on Reaver. He hadn't moved; he lay back with his arms crossed behind his head, waiting for her to complete her task.

Taking a deep breath, she pushed his robe away from his chest; she couldn't get it passed his arms, folded behind his head as they were, but she knew that was not the main concern here. Instead she abandoned that task and moved down to the loose trousers he wore. They were held in place with a broad silk tie that went around the top of his hips. Sparrow could feel her heart race and sweat formed above her brow. She knew what this would mean, how this night would end, and she fought back the feeling of helplessness. Why was he doing this to her? Why did it have to be her? She had become the object of his fixation, but she could not fathom how it had happened. She lowered her head, allowing her hair to cascade around her so no one could see her face, and closed her eyes as her fingers fumbled with the knot. It came loose easily, and without further delay she slid the trousers down his strong legs.

After a moment she opened her eyes, and the first thing to confront her was the hard, jutting flesh standing from between his thighs. The pirate did not appear at all self-conscious. She imagined the entire world could have been there to view his nakedness, and it would not have bothered him one bit. Glancing up into his eyes, she saw they were dark with desire. He wanted this, wanted _her_ ; it was the only leverage she had to work with, and she could not afford to waste it.

Without waiting for his command, she lowered her mouth to his shaft, stopping only to lick her lips before drawing him in. The subsequent groan that met her ears seems to come from more than one man, but one of those men was Reaver, and that was all that mattered. Instead of holding herself back as she usually was wont to do, treating the task with subtle distaste, she worked diligently, using everything he had taught her about pleasure in the past weeks. She used her lips, her tongue, even her throat, sucking up and down his length until he was trembling beneath her. She expected him to release, even hoped he would so that this could be over for at least a brief time, but a sharp tug of her hair forced her to pull away with a cry of shock.

"Very good, my lovely," he drawled, pulling her by the hair so she was forced to crawl up alongside him, "but this time I intend to finish deep inside your sweet body." Suddenly she felt his hand slithering along her belly, and his fingers probed between her thighs. She winced at the discomfort. "Ah," he said, probing her again, "but it seems my slave is not ready." Without warning he flipped her onto her back, holding her against his side as her forced her thighs apart, exposing the denuded folds of her sex to the men who watched her. She could feel her cheeks burning and wanted nothing more than to cover her face, but resisted suspecting that would make Reaver angry.

"Ah, but I have been remiss," he said suddenly, as though the thought had just occurred to him. "I have been keeping you all to myself, while our gracious host has been left to watch."

Sparrow's head snapped up at his words, and her eyes flew to the prince, who stared back at her with unrestrained lust.

"My dear friend, perhaps you would like a _taste_ of my newest acquisition," the pirate said invitingly.

Sparrow looked up at Reaver, pleading evident in her eyes, but he did not acknowledge her. She followed his gaze back to the prince, who was slowly closing the distance between them. She shuddered as his hands made contact with her skin, and his palms, so gentle on her body, caressed their way up her thighs, her belly, her waist, then continued up to her breasts. With infinite tenderness he caressed and fondled them, his attentions to them so sensual that her nipples hardened, and she moaned in spite of herself. She saw him smile at that, then brusquely he grabbed her hips in both hands and pulled her closer in one movement.

Sparrow yelped in surprise and clumsily tried to squirm away, but Reaver's hand wrapped around her arm, a quiet but firm reminder to submit.

With a low groan, the man's lips began to feast on her body, starting at her belly, then following the path his hands had taken to her breasts. Sparrow's breaths came out in fast, short gasps, a wail finally escaping her lips as he took one of her nipples into his mouth and began to suck at her flesh. She wanted to hit him, to send her fist flying into his face, to force him away from her. Instead she jammed her hands under her own back to keep them still while he suckled at her. With each pull of his mouth her body writhed with pleasure. She did not want to feel it, but she let the whimpers escape her mouth because she knew it would please her master. When he'd had his fill, the prince kissed and licked his way down her abdomen, passing her belly button and moving down, and down, until, with a cry of shock she felt his tongue connect with the sensitive nub between her folds. He caressed it gently, then kissed it with his lips, then caressed it again. Wet heat began to pool inside her, and she let her head fall back, moaning helplessly as dragged the length of his wet tongue against her.

Several moans accompanied hers, but she became almost oblivious to the other men as the prince's tongue began to move more rapidly, the wet sounds of his caresses filling her ears as it slithered against her, circling and lapping and tasting. Her hips began to rock in motion with his movements, and a stream of whimpers spilled from her lips. For one blissful moment she let herself forget, let herself get caught up in the pressure building inside her. With every touch, every lick, she came closer, and against her will her hands moved out from under her arching back and tangled themselves in the prince's hair, and he groaned in pleasure.

And just like that, she heard Reaver say, "That's enough," and the prince was gone.

Sparrow's gasped and her eyes snapped open, and she saw Reaver leering down at her, reading the despair clearly written on her features.

"Enjoyed yourself, did you?" he said gruffly, his voice low so the others would not hear. "Did you think I would let you so easily give him what you have fought me tooth and nail for since day one?"

Sparrow stared at him in fear, alarmed by his sudden anger. "What do you mean, Master?"

The pirate sneered. "Your body. Your pleasure. Your release. Those belong to me, slave, and yet you would give them to another after resisting and denying me at every turn?"

Sparrow swallowed hard and subtly glanced around; she saw the prince back on his cushion, panting as he forced one of the women to kneel between his thighs again, but before she could register anything, the pirate grabbed her chin and jerked her gaze back to his.

"An answer, slave," he said, his voice still rough.

Sparrow swallowed hard, uncertain what she could possibly say to appease him.

Lowering her eyes submissively, she said, "I'm sorry, Master. I only did as you commanded, and could not help my body's reaction. Forgive me."

He was silent for a moment, then finally murmured, "As I command…" He stroked her cheek with one thoughtful finger as he looked into her eyes. "You do… as I command."

Sparrow shuddered internally, but quietly said, "Yes, Master, I do as you command."

Another few moments passed, and then Sparrow felt herself wrenched up so she was kneeling on the cushion, and Reaver laid on his back alongside her, his head aiming in the direction of the group's center. His erection was beside her, standing proudly against his muscled abdomen, and she wondered if he wanted her to suck on him again.

"On top of me, Sparrow," he said harshly, and when she did not move, his open palm came down on her thigh with a harsh slap. "Now. Do as _commanded_."

He was testing her now, she could see it in his eyes. She had submitted to him, and now he would test that submission, the way a merchant might bite into a gold coin to be sure it was real. Body trembling, she shifted her weight and slid one knee over him, so she was straddling his hips, and she felt his erection bump against her, then slide between her slick folds as he positioned the blunt head against her opening. She expected him to push up into her, but he didn't. He waited, leering up at her, and she knew what he wanted. Burning with humiliation, she took a deep breath _._

 _I will submit_. _I must submit_.

Then she slowly began to sink down onto him.

She was so wet he slid in easily at first, but it had been so long since she'd been with any man that soon her body began to resist, her inner muscles tensing up and clamping down around him, until his penetration began to feel even more like an unpleasant invasion than it already was. She stopped her movements, but the pirate's hand came down with a hard slap on her bottom and she yelped.

"All of me," he said hoarsely. "Do not stop."

She whimpered in pain, but continued to force her sheath down over him, taking him in inch by searing inch. Sparrow cried out in pain, the burning, tearing sensation making her want to pull up off of him, but she dared not do it. She reminded herself that even without her powers, she was a Hero, and she should have no regard for the pain, but when her progress slowed, Reaver ruthlessly he forced himself further in by making short, brief pumps with his hips.

"Master," she gasped pleadingly. "Wait – it's too much –"

"Just a little more," he said huskily, is eyes glued on her face, taking in every expression that flitted across her delicate features. Ashamed, she turned her face away, squeezing her eyes shut, but a sharp slap across her cheek forced her to look at him again. She gasped in pain, her eyes flying open only to be fixed with his predatory glare. He said nothing, but he didn't need to. She kept her eyes open, fixed with his, and forced herself to move against him. At the first her movements were stiff and jerky, but after a few moments he was moving with her, sliding out and back in, deeper each time, until with an abrupt, harsh thrust her forced himself in to the hilt, causing her to throw her head back and cry out in shock.

Around the room she heard several groans and lust filled words, and was shocked to realize that, for the briefest moment, she'd forgotten about the other men in the room. Her faced flushed so deep with humiliation she was surprised her skin didn't catch fire, but Reaver did not let her attention stray for long; he was moving inside her again, but only slightly, causing just enough friction that her sheath flooded with hot, wet heat. She groaned, unable to fight her own body as it began to move in tandem with his. The heat, the friction, it was almost unbearable, and when he ordered her to ride him faster, she obeyed without question.

 _By the gods, what am I doing_? she asked herself, but she couldn't answer. It was so hard to think with him inside her, and she knew it didn't matter anyway. She'd chosen to do this, for her own sake, but also because ultimately she _had_ no choice; regardless, she hadn't imagined for a second that her body would find _pleasure_ amidst all the pain. Not with him, not here, not with all these men watching. But it did. _She did_. And she couldn't help hating herself for every moan and gasp that escaped her lips.

A moment later her thoughts scatter again. Reaver's hands pushed her back, forced her to lean backward, until she was leaning back with her hands on his knees to keep her balance, and then he grabbed her knees and pulled them out from under her, so she was braced on the balls of her feet instead. It didn't take a genius to realize what he was about; in this position he, and everyone else in the room, could clearly see where their bodies joined. She was keenly aware of every male eye on her, watching Reaver's cock as it slid in and out of her. She tried to be indifferent to it. She knew this was less about her and more about Reaver stroking his overly-large ego; he wanted the others to see his conquest of her, to see that she was so obedient to his hand that she would willingly climb atop him and ride him while they looked on. It rankled her, and she bit her lips, redoubling her effort to hold back her cries of pleasure and at least retain _some_ of her dignity.

Reaver did not allow this. Of course he didn't. With one hand he reached up and gave one of her nipples a sharp pinch. Sparrow cried out in pain, and understood the message: no holding back. Gritting her teeth, she complied, forcing herself down on him even faster, until her cries and moans echoed around the room.

And then, suddenly, he pulled himself from her body and all but threw her off him. She landed on her hands and knees and glanced over at him in confusion.

"Master, what – ?"

But his hands were already on her again, pulling her back toward the center of the cushion where he'd just been laying. When he had her positioned, he knelt behind her and entered her again, roughly, forcefully, until he hit a barrier deep inside her and could not go any further. The impact made her throw her head back and shriek, and from behind her she heard his low chuckle.

"She's a loud one, isn't gentlemen?" he said, then thrust into her again, and she couldn't hold in her scream. He was so _deep_ , and so thick, she thought she would tear open if he kept her in this position much longer.

"Please, Master, please…" she whimpered.

He answered by slamming into her again, the head of his shaft slamming into her cervix with so much force that she fell forward, so that her face was against the cushion, while Reaver held her hips up in the air.

"Quiet, slave," Reaver commanded haughtily. "If you're still able to talk, then perhaps we can find a use for those pretty lips."

Sparrow gasped in shock. He couldn't possibly mean –

"Rajeev, my friend, my host," Reaver said blithely, and Sparrow went tense, her eyes darting to the Prince who still had a harem girl between his legs, his body practically trembling with restrained passion.

"You've tasted my slave, given her pleasure," Reaver went on imperiously. "I think it only fair that she be given a chance to do the same for you. I assure you, you will not be disappointed."

Dread filled her as she watched Rajeev set his slave aside and come to kneel before her. As Reaver continued to thrust into her, the prince took her face in his hands and looked deep into her blue eyes. She wanted to look away but let him look his fill as she knew Reaver expected.

"So beautiful," he said huskily, brushing her hair auburn back from her face with one hand, then rubbed the pad of his thumb over her full lower lip before taking his cock in his hand and rubbing the sensitive tip over her lips in the same gentle motion. For a while he seemed content to do just that, until instinctively Sparrow darted her tongue out from between her lips and flicked the head of his shaft. The prince groaned in response, and with that single touch of her tongue his restraint seemed to dissolve. In one smooth motion he slid his cock between her lips and into the wet cavern of her mouth. This took Sparrow a bit by surprise, and she tried not to choke as he went too deep, too fast.

As soon as she began to suck him, she felt Reaver begin to pick up the pace behind her, taking her so roughly that she moaned around the prince's shaft. She felt it jump in her mouth in response, and she tried to set a pace in tandem with Reaver's movements, but he seemed to be deliberately working against her, changing the pace the moment she caught on. Nevertheless, Reaver had been forcing her to do this to him so often, training her to please, that in mere minutes the prince's whole body started to quiver, and he became so hard inside her mouth that she knew he wouldn't last much longer. He gasped over and over, his hips thrusting helplessly as he grabbed her back the back of the head and pushed himself in so deep that several inches of his shaft were forced into her throat.

She wanted to choke, wanted to struggle, but Reaver's hand came down with another hard slap against her bottom, and she heard his voice.

"Swallow him, slave," he ordered in a hard voice. "Do as _commanded_."

Again he said that word in a menacing way, and she dared not disobey. With a few more thrusts into her mouth, the prince gave an uncontrolled shout and she felt his hot seed spilling down her throat. She swallowed over and over, and almost collapsed with relief when Rajeev finally pulled out of her and fell back on the floor in front of her, breathing heavily.

"I dare say, Sparrow, that might be a personal best for you," Reaver said with mild interest. "But then, not every man has the stamina to withstand greatness."

She was surprised to see that the prince was not insulted by Reaver's remark, but then again she doubted he was coherent enough to even understand what the pirate had said.

After several more violent thrusts, Reaver abruptly grabbed her by her long hair and pulled her up and back, forcing her to lift up so she was only balanced on her knees and her back was against his chest. Wish his mouth close to her ear, he said, "Now you've had the Prince's seed inside you. Do you want more, my beautiful slave?"

Sparrow tensed, terrified to even answer such a question. With two other men in the room, she couldn't only imagine what _more_ meant coming from Reaver, and no, she didn't want _more_. However, if she were foolish enough to say such a thing so boldly, she dreaded what his response might be. He already seemed to know her answer though, because she heard his low chuckle before his teeth nipped the side of her neck and he said, "What about me, slave? Do you want my seed inside you? Do you want me to finish inside your hot, wet, tight little body?"

Sparrow shuddered at the thought and found she couldn't keep her answer to herself this time. "No, Master, oh, please no." She said it quietly, so no one could hear her over the moans of the other men, knowing his temper would explode if they heard her refusing him. It was a huge risk as it was, but what he was proposing made her want to be sick. She didn't want his seed. She didn't even want him. And if it took root inside her… she'd rather he killed her.

Reaver laughed, but again, she heard a hint of menace in his voice. "No, you say?" he said incredulously, keeping his voice so low she knew the others could not hear. "You dare tell your master no?"

She knew she should say something, maybe beg his forgiveness, but all she could manage was, "Please no, Master, no, no, no…"

With sharp teeth he bit the lobe of her ear, then jerked her hair down, forcing her head back at a sharp angle. "Have you forgotten that you belong to me?" he said, his voice low. "Your mind, your body, your very soul? If I deem you worthy to fill you with my seed, you will not take it with a smile, but you will thank me and beg me for more. Do you understand, slave?"

Sparrow shuddered with fear, knowing she had angered him by her refusal. She should agree, she should beg for forgiveness, she should beg him to fill her with his seed, but she couldn't do it, and she was too afraid to say anything else.

He suffered a few moments of her silence, then said, "Perhaps an object lesson is in order, hmm?" Without waiting for a response, he threw her down, so she landed face-first on the cushion once more.

With renewed vigor, he thrust into her over and over, going even deeper, as though he were trying to pierce her very soul. She cried out with a mix of intense pleasure and despair, for she knew what was coming. Her throat felt tight, and her eyes wet, and as she felt Reaver nearing his peak, her own body responded, until they were both only a few thrusts away from the end. She wanted to burry her face in the cushion, try to drown out what was happening, but inexplicably, at the last moment, she looked up and her eyes locked with, of all things, a pair of cold silver eyes. His gaze was as devoid of emotion as ever, but rather than repelling her this time, it was like grasping onto a lifeline. He did not look away, his lifeless eyes watching her dispassionately.

"Do you want it, slave?" Reaver hissed, bending over her. "Do you submit?"

Her heart cried no, she didn't want this, but her eyes with still locked with the other man's, and in an odd way, it was like his emptiness was filling her. She revulsion and pain and humiliation all seemed to recede within her, to be replaced by a calm center even as her body spiraled out of control.

"Yes, Master," she said. "I submit. Please fill me."

Reaver bit down on the back of her shoulder and she cried out in pain, but the silver eyes still held hers, and continued to even as her body fell apart and she screamed with her release, and again with despair as she felt Reaver's hot seed filling her up until she overflowed with it. The foreigner's expression did not change, and she couldn't imagine why she had shared this awful moment with him, or how just his presence had made it bearable for her, but she didn't look away until Reaver effortlessly flipped her onto her back, then came down on top of her. Their bodies were pressed together, pelvis to pelvis, breast to chest, cheek to cheek. She was surprised by this, and a little put off; this tender closeness felt entirely too intimate, which was kind of absurd in the face of everything, but all the same she did not dare push him off. Instead, she swallowed down the lump in her throat and said, "Thank you, Master."

He kissed the side of her throat in response, then said, "You belong to me completely now, Sparrow. Even if I sell you or kill you or even give you away, I will always own you. You will always be mine."

"I will always be yours," she said quietly, and, Avo help her, she believed it.

* * *

Author's Note: I just wanna make a quick mention about that silver-eyed guy's robes that I took to much time to describe. In case my description wasn't clear enough, I wanted you all to know I was describing a Japanese men's formal kimono. At least to the best of my ability. But I just wanted to make sure you knew what I was talking about.


	8. Despair

Disclaimer: I do not own Fable.

Author's Note: Thank you so much for your reviews. And again I apologize for the lateness of my updates. On the bright side, I've already written the next chapter, so I'll be posting again very soon! I just need to proofread it a bit more and wrap up the ending of it. This is another dark chapter. And it more or less cements what happened to Sparrow in the last chapter, and her reaction to it. The next chapter will pick up more on the plot.

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Chapter Eight

Despair

* * *

Sparrow reluctantly pulled her eyes open when she felt a small hand jostling her shoulder. She sensed that she had not been asleep for long, and with a protesting groan, she glanced up to see the face of the middle-aged maid whom she'd met the night before. Sparrow sat up in confusion, wondering for a moment why the woman was waking her, then remembered she was not in the harem.

She was in what looked like a large alcove, on a plush feather-bed with satin sheets, with a sleeping Reaver by her side. It took her another moment to remember how she'd gotten to this room, and then she wished she never had. Memories of the night before flooded her mind, of Reaver using her body over and over again, first among the other men, and then, when he'd apparently grown bored of that, dragging her off to this small room off the main chamber to use her even more until he'd eventually given in to sleep.

As the maid stood staring impatiently down at her, she realized she was to be returned to the harem like some kind of book borrowed from a library. Well, that suited her just fine. She wanted to be alone. She wanted to bathe. She wanted to be away from _him_.

And she did do all that. The moment she entered the harem she was taken to the baths, where she'd taken the washing cloth straight out of the maid's surprised hands and spent a focused thirty minutes trying to scrub every trace of that man – monst – _person_ off her skin. The hot water should have soothed her, relaxed her, but she was past that point. All she wanted was to feel clean again, even if it meant scrubbing herself raw. The maid tried to stop her only once, but wisely retreated when Sparrow snarled at her, and did not try to intervene again.

When her skin was red with irritation and stung painfully, Sparrow allowed herself to be removed from the water, dried, and then taken to a semi-private alcove separated from the main room by a curtained doorway. Inside was every comfort she could require: a deep feather-bed with soft sheets, a few tables, several deep rugs, and a couple of the enormous plush cushions that seemed to pass for chairs. It would suit her needs, she decided, and thanked the maid who stood hovering in the doorway as though she intended to put Sparrow to bed. However, the woman left at her dismissal, and Sparrow climbed into bed herself, intending to get some needed rest and put the night before from her mind.

The rest did not come. Instead, every shred of dignity melted away into the darkness and before she knew what was happening, Sparrow burst into quiet, wrenching tears.

She tried to stop it. She hated to cry. It wouldn't change anything, wouldn't bring back what was – she'd learned _that_ at a very young age – but no matter how hard she tried, no matter how she berated herself at how meaningless and useless crying was, the tears wouldn't stop coming. With them came all the rage, the pain, the humiliation and helplessness. It all just came pouring out of her in great, heart-broken sobs.

She'd done it. She'd finally surrendered to that – that man – that _monster_. She'd given into him, and no matter what her reasons, she _hated_ herself for it. She should have said no, should have taken whatever consequences that brought. Should have found a way to stop this from happening. _Should have, should have, should have_ … Should have done anything but _that_.

Inside her own mind, she raged at herself for what felt like hours. How had it have come to this? That she would willingly give her body to a man she loathed and despised, who had _branded_ her and forced her into slavery, just in the hope that he would not sell her to someone worse? There was worse out there, she knew. She'd seen the evidence of it first hand, and in her powerless state, the threat of it had truly frightened her. But she _should_ have taken that route. Should have damned the consequences if that meant preserving _herself_. She'd let him get to her, let him frighten her, let him control her, and now… now…

A fresh round of hot tears was ripped out of her, her cries of anguish louder this time. There was this terrible, shredding pain inside her. Was it her heart or her soul? She didn't know, but it made her want to _die_.

 _Please, please, by the Light, just_ … _just let me end_ …

She had immortality. She had eternal youth. Right now, she'd trade both just for her existence to cease. Just to make this pain stop. She'd sacrifice everything to be taken from Reaver and hidden in a place where he could never find her.

 _You should have fought him_ , said a bitter, self-loathing voice inside her. _You never should have given in._

 _I had no choice!_ another more pitiful voice cried out within her, trying to justify herself against the guilt and the shame that choked her.

 _Would death not be more honorable, more bearable, than what he has forced on you_? the other voice answered mockingly. _Have you become so attached to life that you would live it like this_?

 _It_ _i_ _sn't that_. There were things so much worse than death. She'd seen and even experienced some of them first hand. Ten years in the Spire had taught her about true suffering, but there was still worse to be had. There was always worse. And knowing Reaver, he would go out of his way to find it, if indeed he did not inflict it himself.

Spurred by her own anguish, she reached up with both hands and began to viciously pull on the collar around her neck with all her strength, crying out in pain and frustration with each tug. That wretched Spire technology Reaver had used against her, rendering her as weak and helpless as any mortal. It did not give. It stayed clasped shut, pulling against her neck and hurting her with each pull until she finally gave in and stopped.

Sobbing again, she threw herself back onto her pillows, letting her mind wander, remembering exactly when she had last felt so powerless and afraid; it had been thirty years ago, when her sister had been murdered before her very eyes, then when the gun-wielding madman had turned the cold, merciless weapon on her, and she'd been too small, too powerless to prevent her own death as it came rushing toward her. When she let the memory surface, she could still recall the feeling of the bullet as it broke through the insubstantial barrier of her skin and cut cleanly through her soft, vulnerable body, tearing apart organs and tissue as it went. Now it was as though she was reliving that feeling all over, except the bullet was Reaver, and he was tearing through her life, her mind, _herself_ , destroying everything in his path with the same cold efficiency.

At least as a child she hadn't had to go through it alone. Theresa had come into her life and honed that broken, pitiful child into a deadly, relentless warrior. From then on, Sparrow had thought that helpless child a thing of the distant past. As a Hero, she had thought all weakness and fear expunged from her, similar to the way impurities are removed from molten iron before it is forged into a blade. She had thought herself deadly and invincible.

That was gone. That Sparrow was gone. Even blades can be broken, and now that she had Reaver destroying every part of her he touched, the blade had been reduced to broken fragments, until all that was left was the frightened child who'd been too weak to save herself, let alone anyone else.

* * *

The next day Sparrow did not cry. Even a mere week ago, she would have told herself it was because he didn't have that power over her anymore, but she couldn't lie to herself. It was simply that there were no tears left, and she just didn't have the energy for it. Even when Reaver summoned her just before dusk, she did not cringe or refuse to go. Why bother? One way or another she would still go to him, and he would still do what he wanted to her. But that didn't stop the dread from nearly choking her when she finally knelt before him in his chambers. He towered over her, smiling down at her, but that smile faltered when she didn't look at him.

Sparrow kept her eyes trained on the floor, waiting for him to say something, either to mock her or give her an order or even gloat over what he'd done to her. Instead, she felt his fingers touch her chin, and her head was tilted up a sharp angle, so she couldn't help but look up into his beautiful face, into the piercing blue eyes that cut into her. She tried to remain numb, tried to hide away the all the pain and damage he had caused her, but had a feeling it was written clearly on her face. Jerking her chin out of his hand, she looked down again, squeezing her eyes shut against the sight of him.

"Stand and undress," Reaver commanded, his voice soft but firm.

Trembling slightly, Sparrow got to her feet, then began to remove the semi-sheer fabric from her body with shaking hands.

 _You don't have to do this_ , a voice inside her mind whispered. _You don't have to listen._

But that voice, so powerful and rebellious mere weeks ago, was soft and uncertain now, and though her hands shook, they did not falter in their movements.

When she was completely unclothed, Reaver did not touch her, but walked in a loose circle around her body, as though examining her. When he'd walked around her one full time, he took her chin in his hand again and forced her to look at him.

"I see no damage upon you," he commented. "You appear no worse for wear, despite my demands of you."

A lump formed in her throat, and she gave a slight shake of her head, not trusting herself to speak.

"Yet you wince in pain," he added, his voice matter-of-fact. "Are you otherwise injured?"

Sparrow almost recoiled in shock at his words. Was he serious? How was it even remotely possible that he could not conceive of what he had done to her? She wanted to scream at him. There was no way he could not know. This was a mockery, she was sure. He was taunting her, discounting her internal suffering as though it were beneath his notice, and that hurt more than anything he'd done so far. Not only had he inflicted this pain on her, but he did not even give her the courtesy of acknowledging it. If his goal was to make her feel as small and significant as possible, she did not think he could have chosen a better way to go about it.

He took her chin in his hand again and forced her face up, but she kept her eyes pointed to the floor.

"Look at me," he commanded sharply, and gritting her teeth, she raised her eyes to his.

"Nothing to say?" he asked archly. "Usually you have been so quick to tell me what is on that pretty little mind of yours, even when no one has asked."

He was definitely mocking her. Why? Did he require further proof that he could grind her beneath his heel at whim? Or did he just enjoy doing it? She squeezed her eyes shut. She couldn't bear to look into his eyes anymore, couldn't bear them looking into her.

"Ahh," Reaver said softly, as though coming to a pleasant realization. "Could it be that you have finally understood your place, that a good slave does not speak unless commanded to?"

That made her feel sick. The lump reformed in her throat, even worse than last time, and she found she could not make a sound. What could she say anyway? There was only one answer she could safely give. One answer that would not result in more pain, more humiliation. One answer that would kill her if she were forced to say it out loud.

But of course, Reaver would not let her retain a shred of self-possession.

"Speak," he commanded.

Choking back a sob, she said, "Y-yes."

His grip on her chin tightened. "Yes?"

She bit her lip, and felt her eyes begin to sting with tears. "Yes, master."

She could almost feel the pleasure rolling off of him. She wanted to cry again, wanted to collapse into a ball of misery, but before she could let go of what little composure she had left, she felt Reaver other hand touch her cheek in the gentlest of caresses. Startled, her eyes flew open, and she saw his expression was filled with triumph, with pride.

After a few moments her lower lip began to tremble and she jerked her head away, looking down again and biting her lip hard, trying to maintain control over herself. It was bad enough he had broken her; did he have to watch her break? Did he have to debase and humiliate her in every way?

Reaver did not move, did not speak, and did not touch her again. He remained standing over her, and she felt more uncomfortable with each second that passed. Biting her lip, she risked a glance up at him; his eyes stared down at her, cold and without mercy, and without warning her pulse doubled, her breathing became shallow and uneven. His lips curled into a smile, as though he sensed and enjoyed her growing panic, and he took one deliberate step toward her.

Her body instinctively recoiled, every cell in her body forcing her away from him, and she took an abrupt, stumbling step back. His smile widened, showing his teeth in a way that reminded her of a predator.

He took another step forward.

She stumbled back again.

"Running away, Sparrow?" he asked. Another step.

The room started to spin, and her breath came out in short gasps, each laced with fear.

"Don't," she begged, her voice barely above a whisper.

He stepped closer. Close enough to touch her. She saw one hand reaching out toward her. She felt his intention as clearly as if he'd spoken it aloud, and she couldn't fight down the panic.

"No." The sound was choked, sobbed, and she fell this time as she tried to step back away from him. She landed on something soft – the bed – and another spear of alarm shot through her. She tried to scramble away from him, but her limbs were almost numb with fear, and her movements were clumsy and ineffective.

"No?" he asked, and she felt his weight join hers on the mattress. His face was a blur, she couldn't make out his expression, but she could hear his displeasure.

"No!" She was almost hysterical now, breathing in short, fast gasps. Blackness was creeping in at the edges of her vision, but for just a moment she saw the pair of slender hands before they grabbed her arms in a bruising grip.

"Please," she begged. Tears were clogging her throat, but she was too afraid to cry, afraid of what he would do to her next. She didn't want him to touch her, didn't want him to hurt her anymore. She couldn't take it, she just couldn't. "Please. I'm sorry."

She braced herself, waiting for him to strike her, to punish her, to hurt her in some way. But nothing came. He held her until she forced herself to look up at him. As his face swam into view, she saw his expression was not angry, and no longer that of a predator; instead it was almost… soft with understanding. For a moment she was confused, wondering if her eyes were playing tricks on her, but then the pirate pulled her up against his chest with so much tenderness that another lump formed in her throat even as she wondered just what was happening.

"Shh," he said suddenly, his voice as gentle and soft as his arms around her. One hand began to stroke her hair, and she hiccuped in surprise at the gesture. "I understand, my little Sparrow. Of _course_ you're sorry. You're frightened. You finally surrendered to me, that was a big step. But you don't need to be afraid. I won't hurt you."

"But you – you _did_ hurt me," Sparrow protested. "All you've done is hurt me."

"No, Sparrow, I _punished_ you," he said, as though that one word made all the difference. "And only when I needed to. But it doesn't have to be that way now, little Sparrow. You learned your place. You surrendered to me. You're completely mine now."

"I – I –" She was so thrown, so disoriented. Reaver's mere presence had terrified her only moments ago, and now he was making her feel safe, offering his understanding and comfort.

"Shh," he said. "You don't have to explain anything." He lowered her back down to the mattress and stroked her cheek while she looked cautiously up into his eyes. "You belong to me." He lowered his face to her and feathered his lips across hers, back and forth, back and forth. "Fear me, love me, do as I say, and you never need be punished again."

His hands began to touch her again, but this time it was not the gentle soothing caresses meant to comfort her. It was the possessive touch that said he meant to use her again, and nothing would stop him. When one hand reached to touch her between her thighs, she instinctively tensed, clenching them tightly shut. She heard Reaver sigh.

"Open your legs, Sparrow."

The gentleness was gone from his voice, and she knew a refusal from her would be met with violence. She didn't want him to hurt anymore, but she just couldn't – couldn't stand to let him touch her willingly. Even – _especially_ after what he'd done to her last night. She didn't want this. She didn't want _any_ of this.

"Please," she begged pathetically.

"Do I need to repeat a command?" he asked, his voice hard and unforgiving.

"I – I can't," she whimpered, and she heard Reaver sigh again. Before she could guess what he would do next, his hand collided sharply with her face, so hard her vision black out, and she cried out in pain. A moment later she felt him dragging her arms roughly above her head, and she began to sob again. "No, no, please _don't_." He was binding her wrists to a bedpost. "Don't! Don't! Please!"

Another sharp slap, this one landing against her other cheek, and she felt hot tears stinging her eyes, then he grabbed her ankle and dragged her to the edge of the bed, rolling her on her belly and bending her over the edge of the mattress so her feet touched the floor.

"Don't want to have to punish you, Sparrow," he said, and then he was behind her, his hips pressed into hers. She began to thrash, tried to kick him away from her, but he held her in place easily, and a vicious snarl was her only warning before he forced himself into her body. Sparrow screamed in pain, at the brutal invasion, at her own helplessness.

"It didn't have to be like this," he said coldly, drawing out and thrusting into her again, tearing even deeper into her body. "I'll give you one more chance. Submit or don't, but either way you belong to me. Now _choose_."

"No!" she cried. "Just stop! I don't want this. I don't want _you!_ "

As soon as the last word left her mouth, he went deadly still, her heart began to gallop in fear.

"Oh, Sparrow," he said dramatically, as though in despair. He leaned over her, pushing her hair away and kissing the back of her shoulders, the back of her neck. "I thought we were past this! You showed so much promise last night.

The reminder was like a stab to her heart. "It was a mistake," she said hoarsely. "I gave in because of fear, not because I wanted you. I will _never_ want you. And if I must suff – suffer for that" – she let out a sob – "so be it."

Reaver was silent for a moment, and then, to her surprise, he let out a deep chuckle. "Oh, Sparrow, ever the martyr," he said, as though she was a child misbehaving in some misguided bid for attention. "You think you made a mistake, and so you _want_ to be punished, is that it? You think to atone yourself beneath the lash? That maybe, if I hurt you enough, it'll wipe away the fact that you _did_ surrender to me?" He moved inside her again, but slowly this time, drawing out a strangled moan as he pushed his full length back into her. "I hate to disappoint you, but it won't be that easy. Every man in the room saw how completely you gave yourself to me, how much you _enjoyed_ it." Another long, slow thrust, and Sparrow whimpered. "I know _I_ won't soon forget."

"No," she gasped, wanting to be sick when she felt the pleasure roll through her body again. "I don't want – I won't –"

"You _do_ ," Reaver whispered huskily, "and you _will_."

"No, no, no…"

"If you want to be punished," Reaver said dispassionately, "I'll punish you. But don't think for a second it'll wipe away what's happened."

And with that he was gone. She heard him moving around the room behind her, and her body began to shake at the thought of what was coming. Another beating. Another whipping. Another caning. She could hardly bear it. For weeks she'd done little but suffer beneath his hands, and the prospect of enduring even more pain made her cry out in protest. She was so helpless. There was no escape for her from this hell, and when she felt the gentle caress of Reaver brushing the cane against her back, she screamed as though he had struck her with it.

"Please… please..." she sobbed, and after only a second pause, she felt the sharp cut of the cane against her skin. She screamed again, every muscle in her body contorting in agony, before she collapsed sobbing into the mattress.

"Now," Reaver said, "last night. You came to me. Yes?"

"Yes," Sparrow sobbed. "You sent for me."

"I sent for you, and you came to me," he said. "And? What happened, Sparrow?"

She didn't answer, and was rewarded for her silence with another cut from the cane. She screamed again, and before her muscles even stopped spasming in pain, he struck her twice more.

"Answer!" he commanded.

Tears streaming from her eyes, she chocked back her sobs long enough to gasp, "I – I surrendered to you!"

To her shock, he struck her again.

"Stop!" she cried. "I answered you! I admitted it!"

"More, Sparrow," he said. "Tell me more."

And, burning with shame, trembling with agony, she began to recount the events of the night before. Whenever she fell silent, he struck her. When she tried to skim over the part where finally, willingly took him into her body, he struck her several times. For twenty minutes he made her recount every detail of it in lurid detail, until it was no longer like a memory, and more like she was reliving it all over again, as though her was using the cane to imprint every moment of into her very flesh to she could never forget.

When she'd finished, he threw the cane aside and flipped her onto her tender back.

Her face was red and streaked with tears, and her throat was raw with her screams. Her stood between her legs and covered her body with his, until they were so close that she couldn't avoid his piercing gaze.

"Is that enough, Sparrow?" he asked roughly, cradling her trembling body as he stroked her hair. "Do you want me to punish you more?"

"No," she said hoarsely, that single syllable hurting her throat. "No more."

"Who do you belong to?" he asked.

"I – I –" she almost chocked on the word. "You."

"Not enough," he said. "Say it."

"I – belong to you."

Reaver grunted in satisfaction, then, to her surprise, he reached up and pulled on the cord binding her wrists. They came free easily, and without any warning, Reaver was inside her, moving slowly and deliberately, as though to make sure she felt every inch of his possession.

"Put your arms around me," he said huskily, and trembling, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders.

Then he was moving in and out of her, slowly at first, every motion geared towards her pleasure, her absolute surrender. She tried resisting, as though by the tiniest gesture she could retain possession of herself; she even tried going limp and unresponsive, but every movement of his cock inside her made the fire in her belly burn hotter, until she was gasping and whimpering.

"You're mine, Sparrow," he growled into her ear. "Mine! Say it!"

The lump in her throat was painful, but she forced herself to speak around it. "I'm yours," she whispered.

"Again!" he commanded, building into a frenzy.

"I'm yours… I'm yours..." She chanted the words like a litany, tears in her eyes as he thrust ruthlessly into her body, until finally she came around him, almost crying with a mix of pleasure and despair.

When it ended, she tried pushing at him only slightly, wanting him off of her, out of her body, but he would not be moved.

"No, Sparrow," he said, breathing heavily. "You've surrendered yourself to me. Accept it. Embrace it. You are mine. Now, again."

* * *

In the week that had passed since, Sparrow had refused to be brought to tears again, and had even tried to find the strength to pick herself back up, restore some of her dignity. It was not an easy task. She barely had any energy just for normal activities, and each hour that passed seem to drag into eternity.

Most days she was locked in the harem, and she kept to herself, sitting on a cushion by the windows to watch the world outside. She barely ate and spoke to no one. During the morning hours her misery receded for a time, but as the sun sank closer and closer to the western horizon, a sense of dread would fill her, multiplying until the inevitable moment when she would be summoned to Reaver's chambers. Every night she'd been confined to his bed where he would take her over and over, until her body was reduced to a wet, shaking mess, and after he'd finished with her, she'd be returned to the harem and her alcove, where she'd retreat shamefully behind the curtain that allowed her modicum of privacy.

Alone, enshrouded in darkness, she'd lay wide awake, refusing to cry, but seeing in herself again and again as the child she'd once been, laying in another bed, one much less lavish than this one, with her insides torn asunder and her heart full of grief. How broken she had been. And yet, she had not given up. How could she justify giving up now? Over and over she looked inside herself for the will to fight, for a reason to keep going, but she was alone now in a way she had never been. There was no Theresa this time, no one to pull her back from the brink of destruction and rebuild her stronger than before. There was only Reaver, her captor, her destroyer. Would there be anything left by the time he was finished? She wanted to scream, to cry, but all she managed was a faint trembling every time Reaver put his hands on her, knowing he would have her no matter what she did.

Over and over he threw it in her face that she'd surrendered to him, that he owned her body and soul, and every cry of pleasure he tore from her throat seemed to cement that fact. Afterward he would punish her again, usually with the cane, and each time he forced her to again recount every moment of that first night she submitted to him. It was as though he was trying to drive the memory into her very bones, and then at the very end he'd leave her shaking with pleasure, licking her oversensitive clit until she came again and again. The whole ordeal left her feeling weak, sick, and disoriented, until, after a week of this, she was exhausted and no longer certain of anything. More and more it seemed this was her real life, and everything before this was just a dream, a past life, something gone and lost forever. Even the thought of Alex, the man she'd wronged so badly, the man waiting to help her the moment the opportunity presented itself, her… her husband… None of it seemed real anymore. Alex couldn't help her now. No one could.

She didn't know how much longer she could keep it up. She needed hope, an end, a way out, but she could find none. She wasn't in the harem she was with Reaver. When she wasn't with Reaver, she was only allowed in the harem. And there was no escaping either. This was her life now. She… belonged… to him.


	9. Threat

Disclaimer: I do not own Fable.

Author's Notes: Two chapters in two days! Just for your sake, I'd like to clarify why it's been taking me so long to update. Aside from drama in my real life, most of you should be aware that this is a rewrite of a previous story. And you are probably also aware that it's taken a few sharp turns away from the original plot. When I originally started this rewrite, I wasn't expecting that, and to be honest, I need some time to 'let go' of the original plot. I mean, a lot of the major points are still there, but there are some huge differences, and I realized while I was writing these past two chapters that I was trying to force this rewrite to go the original way that the previous story had, and it just wasn't working. I needed to let go of the old one so this one could go wherever it needed to. Now, we'll still end up in more or less the same place in the end, so don't worry about that. And we'll still hit a lot of the same major points along the way, so don't worry about that either. Anyone, I know my chapters are usually kind of short, usually 5k-8k words each, but that's just the way I write. I do hope you enjoy this, and thank you for reading.

* * *

Chapter Nine

Threat

* * *

One evening, after they'd been in Sadrhi almost a fortnight, the harem suddenly became a beehive of activity. All of the women were awake, and they were dressing and primping more than they ever had, and this dragged Sparrow out of her misery long enough for her to wonder what was going on. With a sigh she peeked out of her room and found herself in the midst of the chaos with no real idea of what was going on. It was early evening, normally about the time Reaver would summon her, but no sooner than she'd thought the words, a maid spotted her and lead her to the dressing room.

She was made up again, but this time the maid dressed her in a shimmering black fabric, and she noticed that half the other women were also dressed in black, and others in gold. There were no other colors in the sea of women. The color scheme made her think of some kind of play or other form of organized entertainment, and she thought there must be some big event going on elsewhere in the palace. One she was apparently taking part in. What exactly were they expecting her to do? There was no one to ask and she started to become anxious. She wasn't much of a performer. She knew how to dance from her youth in the gypsy camp, but it had been a long time, and she wasn't even sure if their particular style that would even pass as dancing here. Any other sort of performing art was well outside her skill-set.

Sparrow felt her anxiety rise as all the women began to cluster together, and in groups, they were taken through the secret passageways hidden behind the walls. Sparrow found herself ushered into the second group, and she chewed her lip nervously as they filed into the passageway. She tried to keep to the end of the line, but with a firm push from one of the women behind her, she was found herself almost exactly in the middle.

 _So much for slipping away unnoticed_ , she thought. Though she knew Reaver would send for her anyway if she stayed behind, she found herself preferring that risk to whatever possibility currently lay ahead of her.

On and on they walked, through several tunnels and down two flights of stairs, until at last they came to a large, plain stone room decorated with torches for light and little else. On the opposite wall there was a set of arched double-doors, twice as tall as a man and made of polished bronze. From the other side she could hear lively but strange music, alongside the laughter and talk of many voices. She couldn't dream of identifying the instruments creating those beautiful, irreverent notes, but she with little else to do, she moved closer so she could listen.

More and more the chamber filled, until almost every woman in the harem seemed to be present, and she could feel a tangible energy that seemed to flow through everyone present. Finally, minutes after the last group of women arrived, one of the serving women pounded hard on the door, and they were thrown open wide from the outside, revealing what could hardly be called a formal dining hall.

The space was outdoors, and resembled an enormous, multi-tiered terrace with dozens of intricate stone statues and hundreds of burning torches illuminating everything in soft, seductive firelight. Lounges and vibrant cushions were arranged in large clusters around plush rugs, and groups mingled and intermingled between these, men and even a few women freely laughing and eating exotic dishes whose scent left a pleasant burning in Sparrow's sensitive nose. Serving women dressed in simple dark robes carried large platters decked with strange vegetables and glazed meats were circulating smoothly through the gathering.

Sparrow barely had time to take all of this in before all the women began to flow from the stone chamber like water suddenly released from a dam; they gracefully poured out into the terrace where they were greeted by applause and cheers. The women dance and twirled and spun as they moved to fill out the crowd, and though Sparrow tried to hang back, she was forced out the door by the motion of the group, the women behind her pushing her forward. Once beyond the door, she moved along the wall, sticking to the shadows and trying to avoid anyone's notice as she glance around the room.

She was on the highest tier, a raised circular floor that held some thirty guests, all of them lounging on colorful plushy cushions and rugs, clustered around the most peculiar device Sparrow had yet seen. It appeared to be some manner of vase, tall and slender, fashioned of flame colored glass. The opening on top was sealed, with a hollow silver stem protruding from it, leading up to a silver tray and a small, clay bowl perched on top. Inside this clay bowl something was slowly smoldering, occasionally glowing bright red. Several hoses spouted from the neck of the object, each leading out to the circle. Her eyes followed one, and at the end of the long hose was a carved, wooden mouthpiece; this, she saw, was held in one of Reaver's well-manicured hands.

She glanced at him with dread, but thankfully he had not noticed her. His eyes were locked on the graceful figure of a dancing harem woman, one who stood inside the circle directly before him and the Prince. Briefly, Sparrow wondered if it were possible to slip away. He hadn't noticed her yet, and it didn't seem like he would, but then –

"Sparrow!" a cheerful cry greeted her.

Drat. It was the Prince. He hadn't been too preoccupied to notice her, and now that Reaver knew she was there, she knew she'd never be able to slip away. Taking a deep breath, she joined the group, taking an empty spot on Reaver's right, opposite the Prince. She refused to look at either of them, but that did not deter Rajeev.

" _Surabhi_ , it is a pleasure to have you join us," Rajeev greeted fondly, reaching across Reaver to take her hand. Sparrow tried to smile, but when her eyes reflexively lifted to meet his, she couldn't do it. She hadn't seen him since that first night at the palace, and the only thing she could see when she looked at him was him kneeling before her, releasing his seed down her throat while he looked down at her with lust-filled eyes. Just the memory was enough to make her stomach churn and her cheeks burn with shame. She looked down and jerked her hand out of his grasp.

The Prince laughed, completely unoffended. "I see your slave is still growing accustom to the attention of men," he said boisterously to Reaver. "Perhaps you could give her to me tonight? We could take turns – how do you say – breaking her in?"

Sparrow was mortified and her breath caught in her throat. _No_ , _no_ , _no_ , she pleaded inside her mind. _Please_ , _no_ …

From the corner of her eye, she glanced at Reaver. He was looking at Rajeev, smiling as though he were entertaining the thought. "It's not a bad idea. If not tonight, mayhap tomorrow."

Sparrow felt her stomach sink into the floor and turned her face away from the pair of them, forcing herself to take several deep breaths. No, this couldn't be happening. Would Reaver truly share her with another man? Well, he sort of already had that first night, but in the weeks since she'd only seen _him_ , only been with him. He'd never made any mention – given any indication – he – he just couldn't do this! The thought made her sick, but she understood better by now than to make a scene here, in front of all these people.

Trying to steady herself, she looked up from the floor, then gave a start when she was met with a pair of cold silver eyes immediately to her left, fixed on her like a hunter on its prey. He did not speak, but his lips twitched again, as though he were enjoying some private joke at her expense. Sparrow blushed, taken back by the beauty of his expressionless face in contrast with his cold silver eyes. It was one of the other men who'd been witness to her 'submission' to Reaver, the one whom had watched but never lobbied to take part in her humiliation.

"Very interesting," the man said. His voice was low and mellow, with little inflection, although the accent with which he spoke those two simple words was different from any she'd heard in Sadrhi. His words were short and clipped, and he placed an unusual emphasis on each vowel, dragging some of them out, and keeping others so short that he barely even pronounced them.

Sparrow's eyebrows raised at his words. "What is interesting?"

"To see you blush, when at least three men in this circle have seen every part of you there is to see."

Sparrow swallowed hard, trying not to flush even deeper. "There is much more to me than what any of you saw," she dared say. "Parts of me you will _never_ see."

She froze when those words fell from her lips, then looked around at Reaver, anticipating his anger, but he was still in conversation with Rajeev, probably about the possibility of loaning her out to him, and was paying her no attention.

The man chuckled low, bringing her focus back to him. "I do not doubt you," he said in a bemused voice. "For my friend to have taken such an intense interest in you, there must be much, much more than what meets the eye, or he would have already traded you off."

"You and Reav – I mean, you and my master are friends?"

She tried to remember what little she had seen of this man from that night, anything to establish a relationship between them, but he had been in the backdrop all evening. He'd observed the goings-on but had not really been part of the activities. Certainly nothing had indicated that he and Reaver were anything more than passing acquaintances.

"Yes, indeed," the man said. "Since he first came through my province to the north of here, some eight years ago."

"Province?" she asked. "Like Sadrhi?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes."

"So you are a prince, like Rajeev?"

The man chuckled. "No, although our positions are equal in power. I am Karasu, the head of the Shi clan, and therefore leader of Shi Province."

Sparrow noted the title, but gave no reaction to it, something she suspected he might be watching for. Instead, she lowered her eyes and said, almost reprovingly, "And I am a slave, the property of your esteemed friend, and hardly worthy of equal conversation, much less such a formal introduction."

Karasu gave a low, throaty chuckle. "You do not like to mince words, do you?"

Sparrow shrugged. "I do not see the point. If you, like Prince Rajeev, wish to borrow me for an evening, your time is wasted on me. You would do better to converse with my master. It is his decision on where I spend my nights." She tried to be flippant about it, as though she did not care, but the thought made her sick, and she sensed he knew it.

"My, my, you are something," he said, almost to himself. "But no, little slave, I would not take you for an evening. I imagine it would take far longer than that to unravel all of you, to uncover everything you keep hidden, even from your master. It is something I would savor slowly, and with all due patience."

A chill went up Sparrow's spine, and she almost shied away from his intense gaze, as though to seek safety in Reaver's presence, but caught herself before she completed the action. Her intention was not missed by the head of the Shi clan. His cold eyes saw everything, and when he smiled his most charming smile, it somehow reminded her of a wolf baring its teeth.

"Intriguing. Though you wear your master's brand, you still resist him. You still remain… recalcitrant." He smiled wider when she said nothing. "I thought I sensed that your first night here. He wanted, he took, but you did not give willingly, enthusiastically, the way a slave should. You simply… acquiesced. A survival response, I'm thinking."

Sparrow cringed at his words and dared another glance at Reaver. Thankfully, he did not appear to be paying her any attention and did not seem to notice her quiet exchange with the head of the Shi clan.

"You are wrong," she said quietly. "I am owned completely by my master."

He studied her thoughtfully. "I think not," he finally said. "A man can brand a slave without ever owning her. Just as a slave can serve a master without ever truly surrendering herself."

Sparrow was beginning to feel very unnerved. She didn't know what this beautiful foreigner was getting at, why he was talking to her about this at all, but what he was saying was dangerous for her. If Reaver overheard this and believed even for a moment that she was holding any part of herself back from him, she would be punished greatly.

"You're wrong," she said again, "and I would thank you to stop saying such things." Another low glance at Reaver before she whispered, "You'll only bring more suffering down upon me." She looked pleading back into his silver eyes. "Please."

His eyes remained cold and lifeless, but his beautiful face showed more than a hint of curiosity. "And what does a slave such as yourself have to offer for my silence?"

He sounded like he was teasing her, but Sparrow couldn't be sure. In case, she had no answer for him. She had nothing to give; everything she was belonged to Reaver, and anything this cold, beautiful man wanted from her could be taken easily with Reaver's consent.

Karasu chuckled at her obvious discomfort. "I speak in jest, little slave. I understand all too well your predicament. Better, I think, than even you do."

She was trying desperately to understand what he meant by this when suddenly she heard a moan from her other side and glance away to see the Prince in a passionate embrace with one of the most beautiful women in the harem.

Sparrow sat there for a moment, stunned by such a display, and almost didn't notice when another woman, almost as breathtaking in her beauty, threw herself into Reaver's arms. Without hesitation, he began to kiss and caress her, and without understanding why, Sparrow felt her blood run cold. She lowered her eyes to the floor again, confused and angry that she should react in such a way. It should neither surprise nor upset her that he would take another woman right in front of her. But he'd used and punished and exhausted her relentlessly for weeks now, and she was too confused to understand why she felt more humiliated now than at any point since he'd brought her here.

Her insides seemed to churned, and for several moments she was aware of nothing, as though someone had stuffed cotton in her ears, but slowly she came back to herself, and she realized that all around her men and women mingled, some kissing and others progressing to more intimate exchanges; some merely watching as women danced over them, dropping fruits between the men's lips as straying hands caressed beneath their skirts. The alluring yet repulsive displays forced Sparrow to look away, and against her will her eyes met with Reaver's.

She was surprised that this time he was watching _her_. The girl in his lap was kissing his bare chest, her lips working their way down his abdomen as her nimble fingers undid the knot holding up his trousers, but his eyes were on her, even as the other woman took his hardened flesh into her mouth.

He moaned and slid his hand into the girl's dark hair, guiding her movements, but his eyes were devouring Sparrow, and when drew in a ragged breath and let it out again, it was her name on his lips.

Sparrow's body burned with heat at the same time her stomach heaved. Why was he doing this to her? Couldn't he just use the other woman and leave her out of it? She saw his hand inch closer to her, but when it was only inches from her skin, she felt another hand caress her from behind. She flinched instinctively, trying to pull away, but the smell of sandalwood filled her nose and she saw a long lock of dark hair fall over her shoulder.

 _Karasu_?

A glance over her shoulder proved her guess. His pale, slender hand was caressing the bare skin of her arm, moving slowly up and down, while he buried his face against the side of her neck and inhaled deeply. As he let the breath out, she heard a very faint whisper in her ear.

"Don't resist."

She froze, eyes wide, then looked at Reaver, who was watching Karasu with amusement.

"Decided you couldn't resist having a taste after all?" Reaver asked.

"She is tempting," Karasu agreed, his typically expressionless voice suddenly filled with lust and longing. "Mind if I take her somewhere more private, seeing as your needs are already being met?"

Reaver grinned and shrugged. "Very well," he agreed with the air of someone granting a huge favor to someone beneath their station. "Just don't take too much. She's still being trained to my hand. I've not yet decided to share her completely."

Karasu stood, and then with surprising strength, Sparrow felt herself lifted against Karasu's body. When she was on her feet, he guided her away from the group, and Sparrow felt her legs start to shake with fear. Who was this man, and why did – how could Reaver let him take her so casually? After all, he'd denied the Prince. Why would he then turn her over to this Karasu without any concern for what he might do to her?

His hand was strong as her held her wrist, and he took her to one of the darker, more remote corners of the terrace, where he pressed her against a carved stone banister a few stories above the ground.

"What do you _want_ from me?" she gasped, half furious, half afraid.

He towered over her, almost as tall as Reaver himself, with his dark hair billowing around them in silken waved and his ethereal face illuminated by moonlight. His silver eyes were so cold and empty that again she shivered, and his perfect lips were curved into a hint of a smile. They were so close she was overwhelmed by his scent and heat, and she tried to push him away.

"Would you prefer I give you back to your master?" he asked quietly.

She ceased her struggles. "No," she said, "but neither do I want _you_ to touch me."

Karasu chuckled, and for the first time she heard true amusement. "So you admit you do not want your master."

And with that he pulled her body flush against his, and began to caress her skin.

"Why – why are you doing this?" Sparrow asked, letting her fear show. Although his hand moved along her body the way a lover's would, and anyone watching them would think he was taking full enjoyment of her, his touch was almost perfunctory, as though he were simply doing what must be done and taking no pleasure in it. Indeed, when she looked into his silver-colored eyes, they were not filled with lust, but with curiosity.

"That is a good question," he mused. "I am not normally one to come between master and slave, but I sense you are not entirely a slave. At least not yet." When she didn't speak, he smile wider. "Do you want to be a true slave?"

Sparrow swallowed hard. "I don't want to be a slave at all," she dared say. "I just want him to leave me alone, to let me go home."

Karasu gave a low chuckle. "Oh really?" he asked quietly, and his hand slipped into the slit at the side of her skirt. She gasped in alarm, but all her did was find the brand Reaver had put on the side of her thigh. He touched it almost reverently, caressing it with his cool fingertips. "Any what will you do in your home, with a brand burned into your skin?"

She bit her lip, but tried to maintain her composure. "I have men who are loyal to me. An entire town. I was – _am_ their leader."

With a sharp jerk, Karasu pulled her leg over his hip, bringing her even closer, and used this position to stroke the inside of her thigh, but still his touch felt impersonal to her. She wondered if he was just trying to make her uncomfortable.

It was working.

"And you think they will still follow you?" he asked. "That you can still command their loyalty as you are?"

"I will try," she said. "And if I can't – I – I –"

She didn't know. She had no idea what she would do if the people of Bloodstone no longer accepted her. Her old life had begun to seem to far away from her. Was there truly no going back?

Karasu was quiet for a moment, contemplating. When he spoke again, he did not acknowledge her words, but said, "Be still."

And with that reached between them and pulled at the silk ties holding her vest shut. In a few seconds the fabric fell open and her breasts were exposed, and then Karasu's bent closer until his lips touched hers. With his hair partially veiling them, he gave her what she knew would look like several deep, lingering kisses, but what in reality were nothing more than a few light touches of his lips against hers. She still gasped at the contact, and she felt his body stiffen against her, but rather than take advantage and fill her mouth with his tongue, he moved down to her throat, again covering it with only the lightest of kisses.

Instinctively she realized this was a show for Reaver's sake, although she did not understand the point of it, or how he even knew if the pirate was watching them. When he withdrew, she said as much.

"Why the show?" she asked in hushed tones. "He gave you permission to 'have a taste'. Why not do it instead of putting on some elaborate ruse?"

He arched on dark eyebrow, his fingers trailing up her ribs. "Would you prefer that I did?" His fingertips lightly caressed the skin of her breasts while he looked admiringly down at them. "You are a beautiful slave."

She almost jerked away from him again, but with a sly grin he forced her to remain close to him. "Not to worry, sweet slave. I do not take what does not belong to me. Should I give in to my need to taste you, I would not stop until I'd spend several hours unraveling all of you, until you'd given me everything, and willingly. No, more than that. _Eagerly._ Seeing as you are not mine, that would not be possible, and taking so much as a taste of you would serve no purpose."

His response surprised Sparrow, and she knew he could see it on her face.

"Then once more I ask, what do you want from me? Why bring me over here if not to use me?"

His expression turned thoughtful. "I suppose it's for my own amusement," he said. "The pirate clearly does not own you as a true master should. He thinks he has his prize, but cannot see the truth written to plainly on your face. Why not draw out the moment when he realizes the truth? Savor it, so it will be that much sweeter."

This line of thinking disturbed Sparrow. She did not understand completely what Karasu meant by his words, but it was clear he was doing nothing specifically for her sake.

"And what is the truth?" she dared ask. "What are you going to do? What are you expecting will happen?"

Karasu winked at her. "This is not the time or place for such discussion, but I will say I am intrigued by the possibilities coming to my mind."

Sparrow sensed she was being lulled into dangerous waters. She had no reason to trust this man, and his words only made her more frightened of him. He clearly intended to have some fun at Reaver's expense, he did not seem remotely threatened by Reaver as most men were, but what would happen to her? Did he even care that he could be putting her in danger?

Her body shook, and Karasu laughed. "Go back to your 'master', little slave. We will speak again."

She moved to go around him, but before she could he suddenly tightened his arms around her and she looked up at him in confusion.

"Oh, perhaps just a little," he said, and his lips descended to hers again, filling her mouth with the taste of him.

* * *

Back inside the harem, Sparrow allowed herself to be dressed down for the night by a maid and then retired to her chamber so she could consider everything that had happened without prying eyes.

As she lay under her covers, she tasted fear in her mouth, and her heart pounded loudly in he darkness.

 _Karasu… Karasu…_

The image of the man, as beautiful as he was mysterious, lingered before her eyes as she tried to sleep.

She was afraid of him. Even more so than she was of Reaver. She knew what Reaver could and would do to her. She had no idea what Karasu wanted. Though he and Reaver appeared to be well-acquainted, friends even, it seemed the man was plotting against him, although she couldn't fathom why. What person, man or woman, would be insane enough to go up against the Pirate King? And with what purpose in mind? Not that she cared; they could kill each other and that was fine by her. But all she had gleaned so far was that she was involved somehow, and that couldn't be good. He didn't think she was completely loyal to Reaver and was going to try to use that against him somehow. But how? She posed no threat to Reaver in her current state. She would end up in the crossfire with no way to protect herself. What could she do?

She sensed that any interaction with Karasu from here on out was a huge risk, though she wasn't certain what form the danger would take. She had to find a way to stay away from him, it was as simple at that.

* * *

Avoiding Karasu, as it turned out, proved to be anything but simple. The very next evening, when she was summoned to Reaver, he was present, and the moment he spotted her, her gave her a smile that sent chills down her spine.

The two men were drinking and conversing in another language, but when Reaver spotted her he simply instructed her to undress and wait for him on the bed. She did so, trying to appear as obedient as possible, and not just for Reaver's sake. When she'd settled on the bed and glanced up at them, Reaver looked pleased. Karasu looked amused.

For another hour they drank and talked, and Sparrow was left more or less to her own devices. She couldn't understand anything they were saying; although she paid close attention to them, all she could gather was that Reaver appeared to be in good spirits. Normally this would be a relief: a happy Reaver was easier to please and less demanding of her. But now she couldn't help wonder if it had something to do with Karasu and whatever he was plotting. Or maybe she was just being paranoid?

After an hour, Reaver turned his attentions to her, and staggering from drink, he undressed and crawled naked onto the bed to take her in his arms.

"So," he said, nuzzling her neck, "did you find my slave pleasing at the party last night?"

Karasu smiled at her. "Very, although I must admit, I held myself back considerably. She is, after all, yours."

Reaver laughed and looked up at him. "My dear friend, always so reserved. I know I warned you to to only take a little, but if you want more, you need only ask."

Sparrow tried not to stiffen in response, knowing Reaver would feel her response.

"Perhaps, but is she even that good of a slave?" he asked, and his smile when he looked at her was positively diabolical. "I would see how she performs for you before I even consider it."

He was trying to trip her up. She'd denied his claims that she hadn't completely given herself to Reaver, and now he was putting her to the test.

She'd be damned if she helped him. Nothing he was planning would be good for her, she knew, and she would do anything to protect herself from whatever he was planning.

Looking away from him, she met Reaver's eyes and said, "What would you have me do?"

The pirate seemed more than pleased with her initiative, and for the next hour he put her through her paces. Even as she internally cringed at what she was doing, she knew she had to put on a show for Karasu. No matter what Reaver asked of her, no matter how intimate or humiliating, she did it willingly and with outward enthusiasm. She would give Karasu nothing to use, she was determined on that.

When, after an hour, she lay on her belly filled with Reaver's seed, Karasu looked to Reaver and said, "Your slave is truly superb. Are you the only man to have claimed her?"

Reaver, grinning contentedly and stroking Sparrow's hair said, "I am the first man to own her as a slave, although I do not know how many others she has been with."

"Why don't you ask her?" Karasu said.

Sparrow didn't know why he didn't just ask her himself, but to seem obedient she waited until the question had come from Reaver.

"One, master," she said, still somewhat breathless and a little confused by Karasu's line of questioning.

"One?" Karasu and Reaver said in unison. Reaver appeared astounded. Karasu sounded pleased.

"Who was he?" Karasu asked.

Sparrow hesitated in answering, suddenly uncomfortable.

"Answer," Reaver commanded, looking curious now himself.

"My – my –" She swallowed hard. "My husband."

Reaver arched an eyebrow, and Karasu looked even more pleased at her answer.

"You're married?" Karasu asked, sounding as though he couldn't believe it.

"I – yes."

Reaver's hand stilled in her hair, and she looked up at him nervously, biting her lip. He looked like he might say something, but Karasu wasn't finished with her yet.

"Who is this man lucky enough to claim you as his wife."

Sparrow's mouth went dry. Karasu had chosen his words perfectly, she knew that the moment she looked into Reaver's eyes; they were hard with fury. "I – I don't – I –"

"You will answer," Reaver said harshly. "Who is he, slave? This man who has _claim_ to you?"

"Master, please," she said. "I'm your slave. My husband –"

"Who?" he snarled, and Sparrow swallowed hard.

"His – his name is – it's Jack," she said, forcing the lie out, and then wanting to smack herself. _Jo_ _ck?_ She couldn't believe she'd used the name of her Commander, but she'd needed to think quickly; she wouldn't let Alex be killed because of her. She couldn't let that happen. "His name is Jack… Sedgewick." She almost winced again, realizing she'd used the name of another one of her crewmen.

Reaver scowled at her. "And where is this _Jack Sedgewick_?" he said, twisting the name in his mouth like it was the most vile slur.

"I don't know," she said, and gasped when suddenly Reaver's hand grasped tightly in her hair and pulled hard. Her head snapped back, exposing her throat.

"Where, slave?!" he barked, clearly furious.

"I swear, master, I don't know!" she cried, voice shaking. "We're estranged! I haven't seen him in twenty years, I promise you! For all I know he's already dead!"

At least that was kind of the truth.

Reaver's breathing remained heavy and ragged, but slowly he started to calm, and after a while he relaxed the grip on her hair. Before letting go completely, he forced her face to his, and she looked up into his burning eyes.

"You belong to _me_ , Sparrow," he snapped. "Alive or dead, this _Jack Sedgewick_ has no claim on you, do you understand?"

"Y-yes, master," she said. "I understand."

Abruptly, he released her, and she rolled away from him onto her side. Before her, she could see Karasu smiling at her from where he sat, and if the triumphant look in his eyes was any indication, he had not believed her, even for a moment.


End file.
